Fight
by stnaley
Summary: To put it simply: Mags' story. Rated T for language and obviously, it is the Hunger Games.
1. Prologue

"Papa! Where you going?"

"I'll be back soon, Mags." My father looked down at me with welcoming, sea foam green eyes. That was my favourite thing about him. Besides his cuddles, they were the best.

"Please, be safe, Animus," my mother pleaded, clutching his arm and kissing his cheek before he left. I stood by her side, holding her other hand. Father bent down to kiss my forehead and bade us farewell for the night. He'd be back by morning, he was one of our District's night-fisherman.

I was two years-old, so I only had a slight understanding of the world around me, but I had a feeling that my father would always protect me.

* * *

BANG BANG BANG.

My eyes flew open, but my body was frozen on my bed. Mother told me about this. I couldn't move when I woke up sometimes. She called it sleep paro... para... paral... something.

I could hear her muttering as she went to check on whatever the noise was. I figured it must have been the front door since nothing else echoed so loudly in this house when it was hit. Except probably those pots and pans mother lets me play with occasionally.

Listening intently as my mother's hastened steps made the stairs creak, I lay still, waiting for the sleep thing to subside.

Then there was shouting, probably whoever was at the door. Mother must have pulled it open really fast, because there was another reverberating bang as it hit the wall behind.

"They're coming, Patrona," my father sounded utterly terrified, as I heard him closing and locking the front door with such speed it could beat a very determined salmon journeying upstream.

"Who, An, who's coming?" Mother was scared or more likely confused, just as I was.

"The Capitol." That's a word I knew. Father had told me about the Capitol. It was filled with horrible, selfish people who I never wanted to have the displeasure of meeting.

Then I heard him running, not away from the house, but up the stairs, and my door was flung open as I saw him bound into the room. As if by instinct, my body sat bolt upright before my brain could even tell it to. I knew what was happening now. He grabbed my hand and wrenched me out of my bedroom door, still in my pyjamas.

"We have to go, darling," my father informed me, though I was already aware.

"I know, Daddy. The bad people are coming."

As we reached the bottom step, he reached out and snatched my mother's hand in his and led us to the back door. I could hear people shouting in the distance, and more banging. People were getting hurt, but I didn't know why, yet.

That was when the front door shattered to little wooden pieces and everything blurred together.

Mother screamed while tears erupted from her eyes. I shook incessantly, unable to control my fear. Father yelled at us to get out, run, get as far away as we could. So we did.

But not fast enough.

We'd just gotten out of the back door but my eyes lingered still on my father: why was he still there?

I could just make out him trying to reason with the Peacekeepers, trying to make them understand what he was doing. Then there was a crackled bang, and he dropped to his knees.

He turned to face me, and his last word came just before they shot again.

"Fight."


	2. The Time is Ripe

I am jolted awake by the sound of crashing waves and pounding thunder; I suppose it's only mandatory for the weather to take a turn for the worse today.

Gazing across the room, I find my younger brother Thaddeus asleep on his tiny mattress, the occasional spring sticking out beside him. Luckily, he's still too young to take part in the awful Games the now twelve Districts of Panem have been cursed with.

There was a rebellion, twelve years ago, before this began. Back when I was a child, there had been thirteen districts. Now, only twelve remain. My friends and some members of my extended family believe in a possibility of District 13 still existing, but I push that belief off as false hope. The Capitol completely obliterated the place. Which is what they basically did to my father, as well.

You'd have thought with my family being one of the central points of the rebellion we'd all have been shot, but I assume the Capitol is sick enough to make us try and learn our lesson. In fairness, I'm surprised I haven't been reaped for the Hunger Games already.

I thought I was sure to go in on my first year of eligibility, four years ago, but I suppose I just got lucky. Who knows, maybe the Capitol have forgotten about me.

However, I won't be going in unprepared. I told myself to follow my father's final word, and follow it I shall.

I get up out of bed, walk over to the almost minuscule sink and splash some water on my face to wake myself up a little more. I throw on some khaki trousers and a navy tank top, and my fishing boots before leaving the house and heading out towards the beach. We live not two minutes from the sea, like most residents of District 4, so I don't have long to walk before I'm at my destination.

It's pouring with rain, but I'm used to this weather from my boat trips with my stepfather, Eripios. I'm not usually allowed on the boats but he sneaks me along sometimes because it helps with my endurance.

Which leads me to my next point: I have been training for the Hunger Games. I don't know of any other tributes that have in the past. A good example is the first Games, all the tributes just stood at the Cornucopia looking awestruck with no idea how to even hold any of the weapons in front of them. You'd think they spent their three-days-worth of training sat in their rooms crying. That was the year the District 12 girl won, by such luck that she developed amazing skill with knives within just two days of training herself in the arena. She stabbed her District partner in the neck whilst he slept, and hunted down any of the remaining tributes in record time. If I'm correct, she won the Games in just four days, the fastest yet.

Trudging along the wet sand in my boots in this weather may not seem wise, but I'm bound to face anything in the arena so I'm courageous enough to face this now.

I reach the tiny 'x' I left in the sand yesterday evening, rocks scattered in a subtle circle around it, kneel down and start to dig with my fingers. My fingers almost immediately catch the handle of one of my carving knives. I've got to be more careful hiding these things.

Once I've pried five of my tools from the sand, I hastily cover my tracks and head further along the beach, toward the largest rock formation. I'm lucky no one's ever really taken notice of me here or else I'd have been caught hiding all of my home-made weapons in my cave. Clambering over the rocks, I almost slip into the waves to my left a couple of times, but years of self-taught gymnastics and balance-training help me keep myself upright. I locate the entrance to my "lair" and slip inside with ease.

In front of me is, what most would believe, a simple build-up of driftwood. But those are just my yet to be carved weapon handles. I pull them aside and smile at my numerous creations, crafted – masterfully, if I do say so myself – over the last eight years. I've created quite a few knives, and swords near the front, but behind those are my more exotic weapons. There are spears, maces, spiked clubs, sickles and hatchets.

My pride and joy stands a little to the left of the rest, my prized possession. It's a one and a half metre tall battle axe, just ten centimetres taller than I am. It took me three months to craft and it's the only weapon I train with every single day. The rest could be called back-ups, I suppose. I've developed enough muscle over the years to be able to carry my battle axe with ease. I'm definitely an expert with it by now.

I pull out some of my own crafted dummy pieces from behind a small boulder and put them together for practise. Five tributes stand in front of me, each with a weapon in hand, set to charge me – at least they would if they could.

A flash of lightning is my indication to start and with my battle axe in my right hand, I run, scraping the blade along the ground, hoping the sparks will disorient my opponents. As soon as I'm four feet away from the first tribute, I swing my weapon with as much force as I can, counter-clockwise and straight into its neck, slicing its head clean from its shoulders. Without stopping, I switch the weapon to my left hand and accelerate again at my second victim, which is cleaved apart at the waist, as the blade curves and slices off its right hand sending its sickle flying into the roof of the cave and down into my own waiting right palm. I imagine the next tribute would be totally taken aback by what he/she had just witnessed, so I slide past and kick its knife from its hand and force the sickle so far into its neck there'd be no recovering. Leaving the sickle behind for good measure, I dive and pick up the knife faster than I've ever done and almost fly into the fourth dummy's stomach with it, tearing it open and letting the stuffing burst out. The fifth has no chance now, so I sprint forwards, just with my battle axe, somersault with my weapon carefully curled around my body and slash right down the middle, ripping the dummy in half.

My feet hit the ground with perfect positioning, as thunder booms across the sky outside.

* * *

Hiding everything back under its driftwood cover, after roughly four hours of final practise, I snatch up some fish-hooks from my stock of self-made ones and climb out of my cave and sprint home. I doubt I'll ever need my weapons again after today.

Mother is up now, cooking breakfast for Thad and Eri, who doesn't have to work today. She still looks as happy as she did when my father was alive; I'm grateful someone can make her smile after all that we'd been through.

"Morning darling, where've you been?" Mother looks up from the stove, she doesn't know that I've been training. I'm worried she'd only be disappointed.

"Oh I just went for a jog, then sat on the beach making some fish-hooks for a bit."

"Lovely! I've put your reaping outfit on your bed but first have something to eat."

I sit at the table and admire the spread. Mother always lays out a nice breakfast on reaping days, so we're well fed on District 4 produce before we're shipped off. She knows the Capitol would feed us well anyway, but I suppose she wants us to have one good final touch of home in case the worst does happen. In front of me is a variety of fish: flounders, salmon, shrimp and even a large cod fillet. Next to those are something Mother calls 'sushi', fish and rice wrapped in dried seaweed. She says they were a specialty in a long-lost country called Japan. I just assumed they were a weird Capitol dish.

After stuffing my face with almost half the table, I grab Thad and take him upstairs so we can get changed – he isn't old enough to be reaped but Mother likes him to look presentable nonetheless. On my bed is a beautiful surf green pleated dress, next to Thad's little deep teal dress shirt and black trousers. I tell him to get dressed whilst I have a quick shower and brush my teeth. He does so, and I come back to find him looking as adorable as ever. I pull on my dress and arrange it to my liking. I comb his blonde hair and slick it back with some grease so he looks all grown-up and brush through my own unruly blonde mess.

It's almost 11 o'clock. We have one of the earlier reapings because we're a lower District number. Mother and Eri take each of my hands, Thaddeus taking Eri's other hand, and we walk towards the square. It all looks beautifully decorated with an array of blues and greens tossed about; ironically welcoming considering two from the mass of children just ahead of us are going to be shipped off to their possible deaths.

I sign in at the first Peacekeeper I see and bid my parents farewell. They're still smiling, unknowing. I walk over to the 'pen' for sixteen year-olds and locate my only friend in the whole District, Sedna. She's my age, but her hair is a deep chestnut, and her eyes a light grey; the total opposite of myself, with my blonde curls and emerald eyes.

"You nervous?" she asks me straight away, the only person aware of my plan, the only one I could confide in.

"A little, more excited to show those Capitol pigs what they'll have coming to them," I say with a smirk. She looks at me uneasily; she may know about my plan but she doesn't know I've been training, she doesn't think I really stand a chance. I decide to hold her hand, in order to keep her calm for when it happens.

The clock inside the Justice Building chimes and tells us the reaping is about to begin. Mayor Algus walks out of the Justice Building alone – District Four hasn't had any Victors... yet. Algus begins the usual drivel about the rebellion against the Capitol, the Dark Days and the Treaty of Treason, which I try to drown out with thoughts of the fight ahead of me.

Halfway through his final sentence about how the Dark Days must not be repeated, the doors to the Justice Building burst open again and something approaches the podium. I say something, because, well, given whatever ridiculous trend the Capitol has come up with recently has turned this being into a genderless atrocity. He or she has a mass of bright purple spikes for hair, with an excess amount of piercings protruding from numerous points on its face. Its skin is one of the strangest shades of pink I've ever seen. Perhaps the fashion is so be a human pincushion.

"I'm here, my loves, I am HERE!" it squeaks. A woman, definitely a woman. "My name is Charon Hermes, and I am your fabulous escort!" Isn't Charon a man's name? Stupid Capitol.

"Um, I haven't finished the speech ye-"

"Never mind that, they've heard that a thousand times now, let's just get to the main event shall we?" Charon nudges the Mayor quite forcefully in the ribs and nods towards his chair. The Mayor looks completely taken aback, wondering what consequences will come of him not finishing the Treaty of Treason; in fact, he looks utterly terrified right now.

"Welcome everyone! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour, and all that crap." I wonder what President Snow is thinking right now, she's probably preparing some form of punishment for this moron.

"Before we start, who loves my hair? I do! I got it done just yesterday specifically to impress you all! Do you love it?" Not a sound.

"Well, that's awfully rude," its smile almost falters, "but let's pick our first tribute shall we? As always, we'll begin with the lucky lady."

When it lifts its candy floss fingers to the bowl, I notice that the middle finger has a piercing through the nail and almost vomit right there and then. A girl a few metres away, whom I recognise from school, actually does.

"And our fortuitous female tribute is... Naia Minnow!"

A scream from the 12 year-olds section gives her away immediately. She starts to weep and steps out of the pen and walks toward the stage, before a girl of equal height, who I'll presume is her best friend grabs her hand and begs her not to go. Peacekeepers rush forward and separate the sobbing pair, forcing Naia to the stage and dragging the other uncontrollable girl away. Charon does something I'd never expect of a Capitol citizen, and shows some sympathy by taking Naia's tiny hand in his or her own.

"What an adorable child. Now, will there be any volunteers?" There's almost a hint of hope on that nasally voice. There's a disturbing silence before I remember what I'm here for. I let go of Sedna's hand and step into the aisle with confidence.

"I volunteer!"


	3. Decisions

As I walk steadily to the stage, every single eye in the square is on me, and I'm sure the Capitol has already taken an interest as well. Naia leaps off the stage, and right into my arms. I know nothing about this girl, just that she's grateful that I've saved her from certain death.

"Thank you, s-so much," she whispers in my ear, through a flood of tears that's sure to leave a patch on my shoulder. I put her down, brush her tears away with my index finger and tell her to go find her friends and family. She sprints off down the aisle faster than I've ever seen a child move.

"Darling, please, up up!" Charon beckons me towards the stage. I climb the steps and move next to it, putting on my winning smile. _Confidence is key_.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have District Four's first _ever_ volunteer for the Hunger Games! What's your name, honey?"

"Margaret Oracle, but please, call me Mags, everybody does," I reply, brightly.

"What a splendid name! Now, if you'll beg my pardon, I'll be selecting the male tribute." It gives me a wink so strange I don't know whether it's supposed to be friendly or seductive.

The genderless alien strides over to the bowl filled with boys' names and slides the other hand – non-pierced, thankfully – inside. It teases all of the slips, stroking across the tops of the paper before snatching a handful and letting all but one of them cascade through its open fingers. Charon glides back to the microphone, opens the piece of paper and leans in.

"Piccolo Speranza!"

Murmurs ripple through the boys section as a space is cleared to allow the child out. I use 'child' loosely because this boy is hardly that. I presume he's 18 years-old, and judging by those muscles, he's definitely not from the orphanage. Hell, I don't think I've ever even seen this boy around. That being said, I don't socialize as much as anyone else in 4, so that's not hard to believe. He stands just over six feet tall, and about two and a half feet wide; olive skin, dark hair and strangely, bright blue eyes. My only guess is that he spends an awful lot of time swimming, because I can't think of anything else that'd make anyone from this District so... toned.

He reaches the stage and Charon raises a hand to stop the whispering.

"You're a big one, aren't you boy?" I can immediately tell the meaning isn't to offend, but to flatter. Charon's eyes widen as he/she takes in the arms of this boy, who evidently believes sleeves on a shirt are too mainstream. I cough to catch the escort's attention and Charon turns back to the microphone in a fluster. Out of the corner of my eye, I can almost make out a smirk on Piccolo's face.

"Citizens of Panem, may I present to you, the tributes of District Four: Mags Oracle and Piccolo Speranza! Shake hands, dears."

I turn to face my partner... no, opponent and hold my hand out in front of me. I notice something in his eyes, a twinkle, perhaps. No emotion on his face since that smirk though. He takes a grip on my hand and gives it a quick squeeze before letting go as hastily as he had held it.

No applause consumes the square as we are led into the Justice Building. Pretty standard for District Four.

Piccolo and I are separated and taken to separate rooms, where we'll say our goodbyes to our families and friends. This is the most well-decorated room I've ever been in, but I refuse to give any indication that I'm impressed with the Capitol's tastes. I place myself on the pea green velvet sofa, almost being pushed off by the various cushions, and wait for my first visitors.

The door opens after five minutes of anticipation, and my mother runs straight up to me, my brother and stepfather following in her wake. I expect her to wrap her arms around me, but am instead met with a slap across the face.

"WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"I just th-" Another slap.

"Are you stupid, Mags? You're going to die, and it's your own fault. By Poseidon, there's no way I can help you now." She falls to her knees, leaning on my own as I remain seated. I feel not only my face reddening, but my mother's tears pouring out on my knees.

"Patrona," Eri comes over and places a hand on her shoulder, and smiles weakly to me, "she's prepared."

"What? What're you talking about?" My mother looks up, eyes already puffed from the tears.

I take her hand and tell her everything, how I've been training for so long, how Eri helps me on occasion. We both take turns explaining, then I have to help Eri for what may be the final time.

"Eri had no idea I was going to volunteer, only Sedna knew. I didn't want to tell you because I knew this would be how you'd react."

"You're doing this for your father?" Mother is still distraught, but more confident, I know she's thinking about the last moments in which we both saw him alive, as I currently am.

"Yes, I have to avenge him." I'm lucky, I guess, that the Capitol doesn't bug these rooms in the Justice Building (to the best of my knowledge), or I'd surely be whipped or killed for such treasonous words.

"Well then, please, Mags, please try to win. Knowing what I now do, I have the utmost confidence in you. I know you can do this. Don't be intimated by anything, darling. If you're anything like your father was, you'll have the strength to pull through this."

With that, I finally stand up and there's a knock at the door.

"Two minutes."

Thad hasn't said a word to me throughout this whole ordeal, and I wonder if my mother has even explained to him what's going on. My query is answered as he walks up to me, holding out his left hand. Dangling from his fingers is a twine necklace with a medium-sized pink conch hanging from it. I recall the day I found that very shell on his first trip to the beach, after being so terrified of the water before. It was the day I first tried teaching him to swim, and he had almost drowned, but kept trying once I'd dragged him from the waves. I searched for something to help him get used to the ocean, and found it, buried just a few feet from us between various other shells. I had told him that whenever he had a nightmare about drowning, or anything water-related, he should put the conch to his ear and listen for the sea, it would be a comfort and he'd get used to the sound eventually, and become more confident in his swimming. So he did, and he's now the best swimmer in his class.

The fact that he's handing me something from a memory so dear to both of us tells me he will never forget me, and he doesn't want me to forget him. He's so mature, I hadn't even realised just how much. I kiss his forehead and slip the necklace on, nodding to him and squeezing his hand lightly for a second before the Peacekeepers push the door open and pull my family from my vision. I don't even have a moment to tell them just how much I love them all.

I expect Sedna to visit me next, but there are no more knocks. Maybe she was still reeling from my volunteering. Perhaps she thought I really did stand no chance. Boy, is she in for a shock.

For the remainder of my time in this room, I sit and contemplate what angle I could play this. I've already gone for confidence at the reaping, so I guess I could continue with that. Maybe Charon will help me decide on the train or something, hopefully I won't have to go at this alone.

I spend the car journey to the train station wondering whether or not I should ally with Piccolo, who still hasn't said a word even as we're stepping onto the train. This strange boy just smiles an unnecessary amount and waves to the crowd of cameras with a strange air of determination, or boldness, or an emotion I can't even decipher.

It's not until we're seated in one of the, I'll say it, wonderfully presented carts that he turns to me and opens his mouth.

"Hey." That weird smirk is still there, and I don't know how to take it.

"Hi, what's up?" I smile back. If he won't reveal anything, nor will I.

"Well I'd like to know why you volunteered, for a start."

There it is. The one question I don't want to answer truthfully to anyone along this journey. So I do something else I've come to be quite talented at: I lie.

"The girl looked so defenceless and I'm sure you as well as I know, the District doesn't want to watch anymore twelve year-olds slaughtered for no good reason."

It may not have been a total lie, I mean I did feel sorry for her, so I'm lucky when his eyes flutter a little, knowing that he's believed me. District Four did ship off two twelve year-olds last year, I mean. Both were killed at the Bloodbath, as one would expect.

"Ah, that's fair I suppose. Good on you." He smiles again, and I can tell this it's genuine this time around.

Charon parades in at just the right moment, because I really don't want this to get anymore awkward than it needs to. I decide now is as good a time as any to ask the question that's been playing on my mind.

"Charon, if you don't mind my asking, are you male or female?"

Our escort turns to me, and I expect him/her to be filled with embarrassment, or rage, but the only expression on its face is the vile grin it had earlier.

"My dear, androgyny is so in right now there'd be no real reason for me to tell you my gender. It has never particularly been an issue in the Capitol. But since you asked, I shall dignify you with an answer. I am a man."

"Then why's your voice so damned high?" I face Piccolo with shock. My question was okay, that just sounded rude.

"Haha, child, you wouldn't understand even if I tried to explain the procedure to you."

Capitol fashions must be more complex than I've led myself to believe, so I dismiss any further questions I had to ask Charon and just wait for him to sit down. Piccolo doesn't even look offended that the Capitolite has just basically insulted his intelligence. He pours himself a glass of a deep blue liquid from one of the bottles on the alcohol table and plops down somewhat elegantly in the armchair opposite the plush matching sofa Piccolo and I are seated on.

"So, since you don't have any mentors, I'm hoping one of you will be making it out because that would be just _splendid_ for my first time! This also means that I am responsible for the attainment of any sponsors for you this year, so make me love you and you'll get presents!" he winks to me almost seductively again, and a shiver rushes up my spine. The thought of any sexual act with this man is now imprinted on my brain and I just can't scratch it out. But Piccolo has other ideas.

"Oh, I'm sure we can come to some agreement," he replies, winking back. I can feel the vomit rising in my throat but keep my expression steady. I have no problem with homosexuality, but if Charon's involved the thought repulses me. Not to mention he is our escort and a relationship with a tribute, and dare I say it, possible victor is unthinkable.

"Be careful, Charon, what with cutting off the Treaty of Treason at the reaping and now this, I don't think the Capitol would be too impressed with your behaviour." My reminder is so effective I can see him holding back in case his drink is spat over the both of us. His face reddens before he regains the ability to speak again, and I notice Piccolo is trying not to laugh.

"I was just messing, honey! I didn't mean anything by it. Of course I'll get you both sponsors and one of you will win and we'll be rich together and the Capitol will love you as I already do!"

Our escort gulps down the rest of his drink and hurries over to the food cart to pick up something, anything it seems, to eat. The various colours and aromas of the Capitol food don't tempt me as much as my mother's home-cooking just yet. I note the dozen small golden buckets piled underneath the end of the table and wonder why they're there.

"I didn't mean that the way you thought I did." I whirl to face Piccolo, who is fiddling with his fingers looking slightly embarrassed. It's weird seeing someone so intimidating look almost scared.

"What?"

"I'm not... like that."

"I don't care if you're gay, and you shouldn't think it's a problem anyway."

His abnormally welcoming smile comes back and I return the expression. I don't want to befriend this kid, but if he needs someone to confide something in before he dies, I'll be there. I still don't know why I keep thinking of him as a child, he's older than me and probably stronger, but I doubt he's trained for this.

My question from just a couple of minutes ago is answered when a distinct heaving erupts behind me, and my partner and I spin to see Charon holding one of the aforementioned buckets below his chin, fingers down his throat and spewing out any of the food he's just consumed.

"What the..." I resist the urge to vomit once again, as I've done on numerous occasions today.

"What a waste," Piccolo mutters. He's as disgusted as I am with this Capitol trend. In the Districts, any food is good food, and none of it goes uneaten – besides anything inedible, of course.

Now is probably the best time for me to leave, because I doubt I can handle anything else this gross. I've always had a weak stomach, I just hope it doesn't fail me in the arena. I'm about to leave the carriage when I'm called, between extremely drawn out spits, by Charon.

"Be back by five, we'll be viewing the other reapings and trying to work out a strategy in the meantime!" I scoff as I walk away. I highly doubt the deluded Capitolite has any comprehension of survival strategies or how to handle a knife other than to cut a steak.

I'm still refusing to be impressed by anything the Capitol hands me, especially on a plate, so I take barely any notice of my room. Actually that's a lie, I almost cry when I notice the walls are decorated with conches similar to the one still swinging from my neck, but in a vast variety of colours. Even my bedsheets have tiny shells embedded into the velvet in beautiful patterns. Taking a nap seems more fun than returning to Charon or my district partner, who I'm determined not to rate too highly, so I fall on the bed and wait for sleep to envelop me.

It does just that, and the dreams that come to me are the same I've been forcing myself to recreate in my for the past two years. I win the Games with a multitude of methods and surprising ease, and the Capitol adores me. I return home to my family and everything is as it should be, regular and fine.

I'm awoken, what feels like days later, by a heavy knock on my door, which I can only assume is Piccolo because Charon's hands are far too dainty to make such a loud noise. I leap from the bed, rub sleep from my eyes and my thoughts are confirmed.

"The reapings start in ten minutes," says the enormous boy, now dressed in much more appropriate clothes than the sleeveless shirt and denim shorts he'd been earlier. He's got on a pale blue t-shirt, detailed with some old lost-in-time symbols, and a pair of tight grey jeans, rolled up to show the tops of the navy boots he's thrown on. Capitolites really love to emphasise their figures, don't they?

"Thanks, I'll be down in a moment," I close the door just as he's walking away, pull off my dress and underwear, and rush to one of the numerous closets lining the walls. I sift through the clothes, most of which appear to be very revealing, but I pick out whatever underwear seems the least skimpy, and something that I guess will have to do; a blue-green dress with a drooped neckline which comes down to just above my knees. I rush out of the room and towards the carriage where the most sound is coming from, to find my escort and fellow tribute in deep discussion already. The girl from District One has just appeared on the screen as I step through the door.

"What's going on?"

"She volunteered, someone else actually volunteered! Look at her as well, she looks more determined than any kid I've seen going into the Games before." Charon's excitement is so much that I almost miss the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl's name as she says "Liza Crystale". District One really does have some ridiculously name children, but given the look in her eyes, I'm not going to underestimate this one. I sit down next to Piccolo, whose eyes are glued to the screen, to catch the rest of the reapings in case anything else so eventful happens. Sure enough, five seconds later, there's another roar of applause from the District One crowd. Another volunteer.

"My name is Malachi Bijou, and I'm going to win the 11th Hunger Games."

"Cocky prick," Piccolo spits. I wonder if he thought the same of me.

"Beautiful boy, though!" Charon is utterly giddy at this point. I can't blame him, it's his first time as an escort and he's gotten the most exciting Games there will have been so far; not to mention, they haven't even started yet. I have to agree with his statement, though. Malachi stands about five feet-eleven inches tall, with the standard well-chiselled features of District One men, eyes of blue and hair a sandy blonde-brown. I only have a few moments to admire him before the screen fades into the seal of Panem, closely followed by the seal of District Two. The tributes from Two normally do well, having had two Victors in the first ten years, so regardless of who appears I'll be prepared. But I'm still surprised when the girl from Two is also a volunteer.

"I'm Jean Styrke, thank you for this opportunity," she curtsies and stands next to the escort, face forward, her expression solid. It's hard to see how tall she really is because she's wearing heels, but she's definitely going to be a challenge, and taking into consideration that she volunteered only heightens that problem. The boy is just as driven.

"Hello, District Two! My name is Cadmus Forza, and I'm gonna bring victory to you all once again." He's around the same height as Piccolo, but a little more muscular. I doubt I should think little of him either.

The dark-haired, beady-eyed tributes from District Three rarely pose much of a challenge so I don't take them into account. I do, however, note that their names are Beta and Watson, but that's all I seem to notice. Well, that and the fact that they look downright terrified to have been reaped.

Then we are shown. The Capitol has obviously tried to portray my soft side, emphasising mainly on my hug with Naia. There's still nothing revealed about why the boys section parted so quickly when Piccolo's name was called. Perhaps I should ask him about that, or maybe he'd see it as an insult to the reputation he must have built up in the district.

District Five, are similar to Three, in that most of their tributes never seem to make it past the Bloodbath. They don't even have a winner yet. I miss their names, but don't bother to ask because I doubt I'll get an answer out of Piccolo, because now it seems like he's just waiting for someone to appear who he can beat the crap out of. I'll speak to them in training, since it seems only courteous to know the name of someone whose throat I could potentially be slitting in just a week.

I make sure to pay attention to District Six's tributes, though. Last year, the Victor was their male tribute, Karl Chu. Using himself as bait, he managed to catch all of the other final eight tributes in various well-disguised pits he'd filled with a number of spikes he'd carved from tree branches, so that they'd be killed almost instantly. Needless to say, the state of some of their corpses weren't too pleasant in the end. The tributes this year, luckily, don't seem at all formidable. Nonetheless, I don't plan on missing anymore names so I take a mental note that the girl is named Fleur and the boy is called Anton.

Seven have had one Victor previously, but that was in the second year of the Games so I don't remember much. Besides the fact that pretty much everyone in the District has some level of skill with an axe, I know little else on the matter. The tributes are both brown-haired and green-eyed, standing about the same height; it's a tad odd how everyone in Seven looks like they're related. Their names are just as weird, because they both appear to have been named after trees: Cedar and Willow.

Charon gives a squeak when the District Eight seal pops up. There's only one reason: fashion.

"It's always sad when a kid who was showing such promise at the academy is chosen, I mean, they could've been the next Vogue Phoenix for heaven's sake!" I've no idea who Vogue Phoenix is, but judging by Charon's emphasis on the name I'm assuming it's someone very high up in the Capitol fashion industry. I was also unaware that children from Eight were actually taken to the Capitol if they were good enough. I knew that happened with Two, for Peacekeeper training, but I didn't realise the want for talent stretched that far.

As disappointed as Charon is by not one, by both of children who are reaped, I take no notice, other than, once again their names. The girl, Dona, a thin, firey-haired, green-eyed figure takes the stage. The boy, a tiny twelve year-old follows shortly after, and I hear that his name is Remy.

Our escort is still fussing over what a loss this could be to his favourite industry, so loudly that I don't even hear the names of the District Nine tributes. How annoying.

The tributes from Ten are so stocky from what can only have been years of hard work on their farms, since it is the district which tends to livestock and part of the food supply for the Capitol. The boy, Tilman, looks just as scary as Cadmus, from Two, but I promise myself I won't be discouraged by anything I have to face. He takes the hand of the female tribute, Cara, before he's asked to, from which I presume they're probably friends. I can't imagine how difficult this must be for them. No sympathy though, I'm in this to win, not care about the others.

Eleven nearly always presents a problem, but neither tribute seems too bad, so I'll be having no issues here. They're both dark-skinned and dark-haired, but the girl has striking blue eyes. Her name is Fawn and her partner's is Lovett. Occasionally he glances over at her, whether its with fear or something else altogether, I can't tell.

Since the lucky win in the first Games, Twelve has shown no promise. They tend to just die at the Bloodbath with no one paying them much attention. Which is why I'm surprised when the female tribute is chosen, and she seems comparatively burlier than the boys of the more-renowned districts. I've no understanding of how she looks so well-fed and so muscly, because Twelve is the poorest district of them all. Regardless, she's announced as Moira, and from the moment her ever-shaky district partner stands next to her, she looks set to break a neck. The boy is called, Colvin, a small thirteen year-old, and from the bruise on his cheek and the smirk the girl is giving, I'm guessing this isn't the first time these two have met. This could be... interesting.

The seal of Panem flashes up on the screen, and the commentators appear to discuss the tributes. The three of us sat on the sofa turn to one another and do the same, though Charon isn't much help since all he wants to do is comment on the "atrocious styling" of District Twelve.

"That's hardly important, Charon. Is there anyone you think we could ally with?" I need some information, some help from this loon.

"Well I'm assuming that the Gamemakers are hoping their will be more allied groups this year, hence all the volunteers from One and Two. They probably trained them to spice up the Games since the first ten years weren't nearly as exciting as they could've been."

"But would we really have to join them?" I can tell from the waver in his voice that Piccolo isn't content with the idea of being slaughtered by a bunch of trained killers, even if they're to be allies early on. In the past couple of years there have been a few allied pairs, but never a group, and they always turn on one another in the end, usually ending in horrible casualties.

"That's up to you, though I think it'd be in your best interest to do so." Charon seems nearly empathetic, like he's been in the Games and fought to the death before. But he hasn't, and he'll never have to, so he can't know what we're going through, moron.

"Well I'm going it alone."

Both of them look at me, skeptical.

"Look, I can take care of myself. I don't want to make friends, I want to win, and if I get too attached to anyone it's just going to make killing them all the more difficult."

"But Margaret pl-"

"Mags."

"Fine. Mags, please consider joining them. If you don't manage to make it through the Bloodbath and get yourself killed at the Cornucopia, I'm sure there will be a great many disappointed sponsors. You've already got quite a fanbase, from what I hear, and with the right attitude at your interview and a good training score, that's only going to grow. I'm doing this for you."

I almost want to believe the freak, but I know he's saying it because he doesn't really believe in Piccolo; he only sees the poor giant as a piece of meat. He just wants me to win so he'll be known for being my escort _and_ mentor – not that he's doing a very good job of the latter.

"I already have my plan sorted, and I'm going to stick to it. So thanks, but no thanks."

With that, I leave my stunned escort on the sofa with my district partner and race down the train back to my room.

Nothing's gonna stop me from winning this. I'll cut down every single one of those kids who seemed disgustingly happy to have volunteered. But then I remember, that is exactly how I looked volunteering. I was confident, like nothing could stop me, and I was smiling... so much.

I don't want any help now. If they're not going to respect that I need to do this alone for my own reasons, reasons I can't discuss with a Capitolite and a boy I no longer have an interest in caring for, then I'm alone. I'm alone, and I'm better for it.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this is such a long chapter! I wanted to try and get in the rest of this day but didn't realise how much I'd written until I finished. I hope you like it anyway. Please review as much as you can and point out any problems you have with spelling and grammar so I can go back and correct them. Quality over quantity, as they say. But the latter seems to have taken the reins in this chapter... apologies again. Enjoy this for now. The next chapter will be up soon! Personal thanks to Alice Anthrax for reviewing.**


	4. Prep Therapy

I don't know how or when I fell asleep, but when I awake I'm still in the same clothes as the night before. I know the Capitolite cameras won't be in favour of this, so drowsily, I rise from the bed and drag myself to the shower.

How on earth am I supposed to work this thing? There must be at least a hundred different buttons and levers, with none specifically labelled for even the slightest bit of aid. What if this machine burns me alive or freezes me to death? This could be a potentially more threatening challenge than the Games themselves.

Sooner or later, I manage to figure out the somewhat disorienting contraption and get myself to a state of extreme cleanliness. The Capitol is ridiculously thorough when it comes to hygiene.

I toss on some of the nicest clothes I can find in the closet – a pale blue frilled skirt, so conveniently decorated with tiny shells, white blouse and a glittering silver cardigan over the top – and leave the room.

Once I've reached the dining cart alone, I remember that I skipped on any food last night. So the onslaught of smells enthrals my nose and pulls me in, and I can't hold back any longer. I pick up a variety of coloured bread rolls, and numerous jellies and relishes and begin to munch on anything in my eyeline. I'm just about to sink my teeth into a warm pink roll slathered with my favourite of the preserves, a sweet yellow concoction with a slight crunch, when the door opens and Charon strides over to the buffet with a cheery "Good morning!". Odd, after my rudeness last night I was hoping that'd put him off me, but these Capitol citizens are persistent.

"How are you today, my dear?"

_I'd be better if you stopped talking._

"Mags?"

"What do you want? I already told you to leave me alone once."

"Well I was hoping that would change. I would like to help you, you know."

"And _I _would like you to leave me alone."

"I'm sorry honey, but as your escort and your mentor I'm not able to do that. I'm here to help escort and advise you on how to play these Games." The smile is almost sickening.

"Then tell me, Charon, what training have you had for the Hunger Games? How have you coped with the possibility that you may be sent to fight to the death in an all-or-nothing deathmatch with a bunch of kids who, at least this year, appear to want nothing but the glory of the victory? What is your weapon of choice? What kinds of plants are safe to eat? How do you set up a snare to catch a small animal? What is the clearest indication that you're near a source of clean water? How is there any determining that the water is even clean?"

This bombardment of questions leaves my escort shaking. Of course he hasn't prepared for the Games, but you'd think someone so be able to give me a valid response other than standing there like a nervous idiot. So much for Capitol confidence.

"Hey guys."

I was so distracted with probing Charon for answers that I didn't even notice Piccolo had entered the room.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing." Charon answers for me. As much as I don't want Piccolo to like me, I don't particularly want him to hate me either. Even though I'd be prepared, I don't really want to have to think about this six feet plus boy charging at me with a sword or something more menacing.

"Right. Well I'm going to get some breakfast and have a think about my strategy in my room, if that's okay, Charon?"

"Of course, son." He forces a smile on his pale jaw before reminding us about today, "We'll be arriving at the Capitol in about forty minutes, so do hurry."

"Okay." With that, my district partner rushes to the buffet, snatches just one bread roll and leaves the room. I decide it's time for me to go, the awkwardness between Charon and I can only go on for so long. But he stops me as I'm standing to make a quick exit.

"Mags, please wait." I spin to face him. I don't have an ounce of respect for this man, and I thought we could have at least been friends in my prediction of the future.

"I didn't mean to offend you, by asking you ally with the kids from One and Two. I want to save you. Not just for myself. As hard as it may be to believe, I actually dislike the idea of children being slaughtered as much as you do."

He's right, it is hard to believe. The Capitol loves the idea of torturing the Districts, and how different is he from the rest of them, really? But the expression on his face tells me something else. He could very easily be lying, and just be a brilliant actor, but I'm normally good at placing a lie when I hear one. There's a penitence in his eyes, like he's so ashamed to even have to do this job.

"Then why are you here?" I ask. I have to get this out of him.

"Again, you may not feel I'm being honest, but I want to save a child every year. Not for the glory that _I_ was the one to do so. Just because I hate it. I hate the Games."

I wonder if President Rook is listening to this, if the carriage is bugged, and raise a finger to shush the escort. As much as I dislike him, I don't approve of the idea of him being tortured.

"Fine. Then try to save Piccolo, because I'm still going solo." I turn to leave again.

"No."

"Excuse me?" I'm back facing Charon.

"I know you think I'm already rooting for him, but let's face it, the boy has no real determination to win this. He may be more intimidating than the mutts that girl from Five had to face last year, but that doesn't guarantee that he even has a chance. If you hadn't noticed, he isn't the brightest crayon in the box."

In fact, I had noticed. Piccolo might be trying to put on a clever front by saying that he's going to think up a strategy, but I doubt he'll be able to come up with one alone. I make the choice to humour my escort.

"Then what do you propose I do?"

"We'll work something out once Piccolo tells us his plan. In the meantime, I'd like you to consider, again, the option of joining them. Like I've said before, I feel it would be the wisest choice, specifically at the bloodbath, which is likely to be even bloodier this year. I may not be able to wield a weapon like one of the great heroes of times past, but I damned well know the Hunger Games. Ten years watching has taught me a thing or two and I'm going to help you win this if it kills me."

I'm speechless. Not only because Charon knows something about historical which doesn't involve past Capitol trends or the Dark Days (which everyone is aware of), but he has also shown a great interest in an attempt to gather knowledge on how to survive if, say, another rebellion occurred and we were all forced to live with the savage natures the Hunger Games forces children to gain.

"Okay." My respect has increased for the escort. Perhaps I can call him my mentor after all. "I'll do it. But if you don't get me any sponsors I'll be coming out of that arena ready to slice you in half, understood?"

Charon smirks, and nods. "Agreed."

I'm glad we've finally come to an agreement about this. I'm also happy that I've learned something about my mentor in the process. Something I could easily use against him, if needs be. This man is dying for another rebellion as much as half the districts are.

"Now, quickly, go fetch Piccolo and get ready to depart, my dear."

I hurry back up the train to find my district partner is already out of his room and making his way towards us, muttering somewhat manically.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine." He certainly doesn't look it.

"We're almost there. Are you excited?" I say with as friendly a smile as I can muster.

"Yeah, I guess I am. Excited to kick some District One ass, as it goes. I really didn't like the look of that Malachi kid."

"Oh, really? I thought you were calling him a cocky prick because you want to be his best friend." Even someone as simple as him will be able to understand sarcasm.

"Yeah, I'm sure we'll be such good pals!"

I chuckle slightly. Maybe he is a little funny, maybe. Still don't like him though.

The train is sent into pitch blackness, and I rush to pick up a fork and assume a battle stance before Charon informs me that we're only in a tunnel, his hands shaking. Even Pic is laughing at my stupidity. Really, what an insult.

We speed out of the tunnel and I'm nearly blinded by the colours and lights flooding in through the windows. If the Capitol itself wasn't bedazzling enough, the thousand flashing cameras were enough to make anyone wish they didn't have eyes. I know I'm going into the Hunger Games but I would like some level of vision when I go into the arena, please.

We're forced to stand as the doors to the train slide open and greet the Capitol citizens who want nothing but to fawn over the children they're so gladly sending into an arena where they'll watch us die. Disgusting creatures. I turn and practically beg Charon to let us get going, and he places a hand on each of our backs and pushes us through the crowd towards our car. I crawl inside and the others follow quickly, Charon sits in the middle and Piccolo on his other side. We drive in silence, once again, towards the Remake Center. It seems that the only time we can have a non-awkward chat is when there are just two of the three of us together at one time. As a trio, we're hopeless conversationalists.

Upon arrival at the Remake Center, Piccolo and I are instantly dragged off in separate directions, to be prepared for the chariot rides tonight. That's essentially the opening ceremony of the Games, where tributes are presented in often ridiculous outfits to the potential sponsors and the rest of Panem.

It appears to have been mere seconds before my prep team appears, and introduce themselves, a little too cheerfully for my liking, as Eulalia, Leon and Tiberius. The lone female, Eulalia, is remarkably chatty, has skin tinted a pale blue, hair three-feet above her head and nails longer than her fingers. Leon, appropriately, has an enormous mane of golden hair, with whiskers to match, his eyes are crimson and his teeth have been elongated and formed into fangs. Tiberius, at first, was harder to understand because it appears he's taken on the androgynous trend like Charon. But once he spoke in a deep tone I was aware of his gender.

It takes a while, but as soon as I'm completely hairless – including a number of places I wouldn't like to detail – and my nails are fixed to a desirable standard (after Eulalia's complaints about the lack of lotions and nail treatments in District Four), I'm told to wait until my stylist, Solon, arrives.

I don't have to wait long though, until a man taller than any other I've seen steps into the room and ushers out my prep team. His hair is a single strip of green down the middle, except for intricate patterns and symbols shaved into the sides. His skin is simply tanned, which seems to be a popular choice for Capitol fashion this year. However, it's his eyes which are his most striking feature. There is simply no colour. Down to the pupils, they are entirely white. He beckons for me to step forward and cups my face in his hands, examining every inch of my features. His nimble fingers slide down my arms and into my own hands, which is when I realise. Solon is blind.

"Eulalia has done a splendid job with your hands, my dear. From what I gather, you've experience with knives, yes?"

What? Are my hands still rough after all those lotions? My weapon hilts were never too much for my hands to hold, but they did leave me with the occasional blister. Maybe Eulalia left a scar or two and his senses are heightened so that he can feel them.

"Yes, but why do you ask?"

"You'll see," he says with a satisfied smile. He exits the room, leaving me pondering how he could've worked out my past from just holding my hands. Minutes later, he's back, followed closely by Tiberius who is struggling to carry an assortment of nets and what I'm assuming is my chariot outfit. He places everything onto the bed I was previously laying on, and Solon tells him to hold up the outfit so I can see it. I'm happy he does, because it's one of the most beautiful chariot outfits I've ever seen.

Being held in front of me is a long, off the shoulder two-part dress. The top half is a a golden bodice, with two large strategically-placed shells across the breasts. The bottom is an array of green, blue and silver scales, obviously meant to depict the tail of a fish. I'm going to be a mermaid.

"Now, cut it."

Solon is stood next to me, holding a dagger out for me to take it.

"Excuse me?" I know he's blind, but don't tell me he's also mentally unstable. "You want me to destroy this?"

"Not destroy, cut. Please."

I've no need to question his authority. This is his creation, he is my stylist and I'm sure he knows what he's doing. I take the dagger from his opened palm and step toward the dress. Tiberius is shaking, but he's trying to hide his fear. He obviously has no idea just how skilled I am. With a few swift – if a little regretful – strikes I've cut the dress to an almost satisfactory mess. What I'm not happy with is that in my haste I accidentally cut off one of the breast coverings and sent a shell clattering to the floor. I also appear to have cut out the entire front of the dress which was meant to cover my stomach.

"Oops."

Solons walks over to the dress and analyses the oddity with his hands.

"Excellent. Now that you've taken your rage out on the Capitol, I will work."

So that's why he asked me to do it. I'm starting to think this man knows more about me than I'd have been happy to presume.

Within just a few minutes – in which Tiberius regains his ability to breathe sufficiently – Solon holds up the dress to present me with what I'm guessing is my _real_ chariot outfit. The portions I'd cut open have been replaced with the nets that had been brought in.

"What do you think?"

"It's... lovely." As much as I'd like to say I hate it, as well as the fact that my breast will be on show, I don't. It really is a wonderful idea.

"The combination of both yourself and the dress is a representation of how even the most beautiful of us are so easily caught, and controlled. There are other connotations, but you may figure them out later on, or ponder them now, if you please."

I don't please, as it goes.

"You have half an hour to ready yourself, in which Tiberius will style your hair and I will be getting myself ready. Thank you for your time, my dear."

I nod him a farewell, for now, and sit back down. The androgynous member of my prep team tousles my hair, curls it into smooth waves and adorns it with a number of tiny blue-green shells. He also puts my token, the necklace from Thad, around my neck. Just as he's finished and about to leave, I remember something.

"What about make-up?" I ask, wondering why he'd forget something the Capitol citizens so generously use on a daily basis.

"Solon has decided that you aren't in need of it." He leaves.

I'm just in shock. I know I'm not hideous, but surely I'm not attractive enough to be left completely devoid of some sort of cover-up. Nevertheless, I respect my stylist's wishes and leave the room. I ask a Peacekeeper for directions and am led to the nearest elevator.

"Hold the door!" Willow, the girl from 7 is running in my direction, dressed as – no surprises here – a willow tree. She squeezes through the doors with a muttered "thanks" and we continue the journey down to the bottom floor of the Remake Center in silence.

I locate the chariot for District Four and walk over, with numerous stares from other tributes. It's hardly unexpected, I mean, one of my breasts is partly exposed. Piccolo doesn't seem to notice though. He looks amazing, by the way. His stylist has chosen to reflect my outfit, and it's clear that Solon had the upper hand in making the choices for us. My district partner isn't wearing a shirt, so his well-toned chest is exposed, but he has a golden net tied around one of his beefy arms from his wrist to his neck. He's wearing suit trousers made of the same material as the bottom half of my dress, covered in scales which glitter as we walk together.

"Someone's sexy!" Well, I have to lighten the mood somehow. It makes him blush a little, though.

"Thanks, you look amazing," he says, with a near hungry look in his eyes.

"One minute!"

Piccolo hops onto the chariot and pulls me up next to him. I scan my surroundings and check over the other tributes. The girl from Twelve is eyeing her district partner like she could eat him for breakfast, and she might just be planning to.

Panem's national anthem begins to reverberate around the room, and across the City Circle as the District One chariot rolls out. They're dressed like royalty, as always. Two follows and I see that they're in matching suits of armour, except without helmets. Three moves just in front of us in a pair of... something related to their district; I don't know, I don't understand all that technological nonsense. Then we're off, and the noise from the crowd is almost deafening. There are cheers of my name, and shouts for Piccolo as well. Roses and coins are thrown toward us and Piccolo catches one between his teeth and I fail to suppress a giggle. I wave to my admirers and look up to the screens to see that, although Districts Five, Six and Seven have already been out a while, our faces are dominating all others – particularly mine.

We reach the end of our journey and all the chariots remain in a circle around the President's balcony, high above us, as she gives the official welcoming speech. I'm not listening, though. The only thing circulating in my mind currently are the various ways in which I can murder this woman. Her son stands to her left, a small, blonde haired twelve year-old with no worry of ever being reaped. There's something in his eyes as he stares down at all of us, like a snake hungry for its next kill.

The speech ends and we're pulled into the Training Center, where I leap from the chariot and am congratulated by Charon and Solon on my beauty and grace. I'm guessing someone described the spectacle to my stylist. I then head off toward the elevator with Charon, but Piccolo asks to stick around. I notice he's taken a liking to the boy from 6, Anton, and spot the two of them talking a few metres from us. The elevator takes Charon and I up to the fourth floor, where I'm told all District Four tributes stay every year. It's entirely decorated in a mess of greens and blues, with the latest Capitol furnishings and styles. I'd be getting sick of the colours if they didn't remind me so fondly of home.

"I'm gonna go to bed, I'm shattered." Honestly, I am. I've been primped and pulled about all day and I just want to rest.

"You sure you don't want anything to eat first?" Charon clicks his fingers and some of the silent attendants I'd seen on the train appear with trays upon trays of the finest Capitol delicacies.

"As delicious as everything looks, I'm really not hungry and will have to decline. Goodnight."

I walk off in search of the bedrooms, and select one, locking the door behind me. Pulling off all items of clothing besides my token, I fall into the enormous bed and slip into my dream world, hoping that tonight will bring me at least something.

I'm in an enormous city, resemblant of the Capitol but much more ancient; not to mention classy. The people are dressed in normal clothes, simple, with the odd eccentricity. Everyone I pass has a different accent and the buildings tower hundreds, thousands of feet above me. I walk for hours, through streets filled with people, lights and shops. There are huge advertisements for productions of something called 'theatre', and giant green letters spelling out 'Wicked' light up one of them. An 'M' three times my height and bright yellow in colour towers on one side, and people rush in and out underneath it, carrying food in colourful wrappings. I keep walking, in a direction I'm guessing is south, and end up at a great expanse of water. A mile or so across the water, but still very easily visible through the light haze surrounding me, is a woman, entirely green, wearing robes and holding a flaming torch. She's over a hundred feet tall; large enough to intimidate anyone, even me. My mother showed me pictures of her once, she told me she was the protector of this city. The Guardian of the Big Apple.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and subscribed for alerts! It means a lot to me that people are appreciating my work. If you can work out who President Rook's son is you get points for your house. Oops, wrong fandom. Nonetheless, you get cookies. Anyone who reviews from this point onwards is welcome to ask for a paragraph from the first chapter of the Games!**


	5. Changing

"Wakey-wakey, rise and shine."

Charon is standing over me, shaking me awake. I roll over and find the hologram clock stating that it's almost 10:30.

"Shit, how did I sleep so long?"

"I don't know, but will you please get up and have some breakfast? Oh, and do shower first. Apparently those fish scales putrefy faster than you'd think."

I look down to see that the bottom half of my dress has gone from a mesmerising oceanic spectacle to an almost unrecognisable mass of browns and vomit greens clinging to my legs. The smell is one of vile proportions.

"Could you help me out of this thing?"

"Ugh, if I must." Charon helps me off of the mattress and half-tears, half-unzips the back of the dress. I wonder if this is one of the other meanings Solon had spoken about, something like 'Beauty isn't forever'. Well I would rather have woken up in something that still resembled a dress than look like I've been thrown up on by a scum-ridden sea gorge.

Charon leaves and I take a quick shower. I come back to find the room and bed cleaner than when I'd left it; an Avox must have tidied up whilst I was tidying myself. I throw on whatever training clothes I can find in the drawers provided – which are enormous, by the way – and head towards the dining room.

Piccolo is already awake and munching on something that resembles bread, but smells divine.

"What's that?"

"A croissant, Char says it's from an ancient place called 'France' or something," he says, tossing me one. I take a bit and a sweet, buttery sensation swarms my taste buds.

"By Poseidon, this is good."

I take a seat and pile about six of them onto my plate. That's my breakfast sorted. Charon hurries back into the room mumbling something illegible and sits down with us.

"Training starts today! How're you both feeling?"

"Well, other than being so rudely awakened this morning, I'm fine."

"Splendid," he says with a smile, "How about you, Pic?" I frown at the odd use of a nicknames between the two, but dismiss it as plain friendliness.

"I'm great. Soundless sleep, and I actually got up on time."

I playfully punch his arm before turning to Charon.

"So, I suppose you want us to work out alliances today? Do you want us both to join the Ones and Twos?"

"Yes, or at least try to. Prove to them that you have what it takes to be a part of their team, and hopefully intimidate some of the other tributes while you're at it."

"I'm not doing that."

Both of us turn to Piccolo, who is still fixated on the numerous delicious occupants of his plate. He and I seem to have switched personalities in just over a day.

"What? Why not? Do you _want_ to be killed in the bloodbath?"

"It's not that. I just don't want to have the mentality that they, and now you, seem to have."

"And what do you mean by that?" My face starts to rubify with anger.

"Like that. Angry all the time, like you could kill so easily, and be unfazed by it. Like... like a monster."

"You think I'm a monster?" My voice rises again.

"No... I... I just thought-"

"If I'm a monster, you're a coward." Though I know I could take him, there's still a hint of fear in my voice. This boy is nearly twice my height and certainly double my weight muscularly. Nonetheless, I get up from my seat. "Good luck getting past the Cornucopia, shrimp."

In a huff, I walk to the elevator, ignoring the apologies from the boy who is now going to gain absolutely zero help from me. I press the button for the basement, assuming this is where the actual Training Center is. I know I'm already nearly an hour late but I've been training for 8 years already, an hour won't hurt.

Once I arrive, I find that every tribute is already at a station, so I run up to the head trainer.

"Hey, sorry I'm late."

"Better late than never, my dear," he says with the trademark Capitol grin, "my name is Andreas. I've already gone over the training stations but there's a map just over there if you have difficulty locating anything. The instructors at the stations are there to provide aid and to help you practise anything you wish. You are not permitted to fight other tributes or attempt to harm them in any way which may affect their performance in the Games. You may begin."

I thank him and walk speedily around the room, trying to find at least one of the tributes from One or Two. Luckily, I don't have to look very long. The boy from One, Malachi is at the long-ranged weaponry station, skilfully throwing bladed stars and hitting every target that pops up. His district partner and the tributes from Two are right behind him, admiring his skill and speed. I take my chance and walk up to them.

"Hi, I'm Mags, District F-"

"Mags Oracle, District Four." Jean, the girl from Two finishes my introduction for me.

"Yeah, I was wondering if any of you wanted to ally." The four of them, since Malachi has decided to stop showing off and see what the fuss is about, smirk, and the girl from One, Liza, even giggles a bit.

"Why should we?" Cadmus scoffs. _Oh I'm gonna cut you open, oaf._

As if to respond, I strut over to the station for axes, scan the weapon rack and pick up the one I'm most familiar with. It's slightly heavier than the one I have back in Four, so I let the battle axe drag a little, which causes the instructor to step in.

"Just set up some dummies will you?"

He obeys and in a couple of minutes my stage is set. Just as on the morning of the day I'd been reaped, the set-up was pretty similar – other than the fact that these dummies moved, I doubt they'll be much of a problem. I ran, still dragging the axe as I went, which caused a chuckle to wave through the Ones and Twos. They want a reason to let me in, here's their sodding reason. I pull the axe up so it's above my head and bring it soaring down straight through the body of the first dummy. There's no time to waste though, if there's two things these tributes will be impressed with, they're speed and strength. Wrenching my weapon from the now halved mess off leather and stuffing, I run at full speed again towards my second victim. I leap to its right but keep my axe in the air to the left and let it glide through its chest with ease. In almost no time, I've taken down the final three dummies and gained an audience of, not only the Ones and Twos, but a number of other tributes.

"Okay, we'll have you." Jean answers for the group, to which they nod in agreement. Cadmus pats me on the back and Liza even tries to link arms with me, but I pull away.

"Sorry, nothing personal, just trying not to have any attachments. In case, well, you know."

"Sure, honey, no problem." Her use of that word, honey, reminds me just how similar the Capitol and District One residents are.

Looking around at my various other admirers, I spot Piccolo chatting away to the boy from Six, yet again. He eyes me every so often, obviously even more scared now than he was this morning. He may be renowned in Four for his brutality but there's no denying this boy is terrified of me. Ha, so he should be.

The rest of this first day passes with ease. I discover each of my allies' strengths, but more importantly I take note of their weaknesses.

Both Liza and Malachi from One are fast, and skilled in various thrown weapons, but when it comes to close-combat, quite frankly, they suck. The instructor knocks Liza to the ground in less than ten seconds because she, literally, throws her club at him. One word: moron. Malachi is a little luckier, but still goes down without even landing a hit on his opponent. Cadmus, like Piccolo, seems to be nothing but brawn, with nought but a fighting bone in his body. No wonder he volunteered, he was probably dropped on his head as a baby. Jean, however, is quite the opposite. What she lacks in physical strength she makes up for in speed and intelligence. Something tells me that she isn't to be taken too lightly.

We part ways in the elevator after training at close-range with one another the whole day, even eating together, and I'm left to ride up to the fourth floor alone.

Charon is there to greet me, along with Solon and my prep team. An important-looking, rather rotund, silver-skinned woman with eyelashes protruding at least a foot in front of her face is also there, with another trio of freaks – these must be Piccolo's stylist and prep team. I guess they're staying with us too, and I realise they must have slept even longer than I did this morning – the Carefree Capitolites.

"How did it go? Did you manage to make any allies?"

"It was great. Yep, with who you suggested as well."

"Wow, how did you convince them?"

"You'll find out in five days," I say with a wink, before sitting down at the dining table.

We get through dinner in silence – which is new for Eulalia – and it's about 45 minutes before Piccolo even makes an appearance. His eyes flit in and away from my direction as he takes a seat.

"So how was your day?" Charon asks, grinning as always.

"It was uh... good."

"Did you make any friends?"

"I'm not here to make friends, I'm here to kill 23 other kids. But if you meant allies, yes, I did."

"Who, if you don't mind my asking?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Okay, I apologise."

"Can I just go?" he says, eyeing me more nervously now. I know he's teamed up with Anton, from Six, but I can't be sure if there are more; I didn't exactly pay attention to him today.

"Don't you want to eat something?" His stylist speaks for the first time, and I'm surprised by her accent. She sounds like the rancher kids from Ten did when I walked past them today, with drawn out, emphasised tones to her speech.

"No, thank you, Detra." He gets up from his seat and leaves without another word, but we stare each other down as he does. Piccolo really isn't as nice as he'd like to be.

"What's rattled his cage?" Tiberius pipes up.

"I hate to say it, but I think we have competition between our district 'partners' this year," states my wise stylist.

"There's no competition, he'll be dead on the first day, just watch."

Every person at the table stares at me in shock.

"I know you don't like him, Mags, but really? Killing your own district partner?" Charon seems simply disgusted by the thought.

"Someone's gotta do it," I say with a shrug.

"When it comes down to it, do what you must," Solon reminds me, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you speaking to Eulalia a little while ago about how you so desperately wanted to bring a tribute home this year, Charon?"

My escort looks taken aback.

"Y-yes, and Mags is aware that, should the time come, I will be backing her over Piccolo. But for the time being I would like the two of them to at least try to get on. I know it is pretty much the boy's fault, having called Mags a 'monster' this morning, bu-"

"He called her a _monster_?" Solon seems shocked, his eyes widen but obviously no expression is present in their white depths. "Mags may have a similar attitude to the tributes from One and Two but she is in no way on their level of monstrosity."

"Exactly, thank you. Now if none of you mind, I'll be going to bed. I'd better get up early tomorrow so I can get just an extra hour of training in. You never know, Piccolo might put up a fight or something."

I stand and leave, but the discussion between my mentor/escort and my stylist continues long after I'm gone. It's like their voices rise just to make it easier for me to hear the further away from them that I get. Once my bedroom door is firmly closed, I have peace. I don't want to have to kill Piccolo, or even hurt him. Despite all my training, I don't actually want to hurt anyone, but when the time comes I'll have to, if it means my survival. I slip out of my training clothes, make the decision to shower in the morning, slip under the covers and back into my mind.

I'm in that same city again, chasing Piccolo through the streets. He looks terrified, but I can't comprehend a reason for it. I look down, and discover why. In my arm is my weapon of choice, my beautiful battle axe. Except I'm not holding onto it: the axe _is_ my arm. His face is streamed with tears, mine with blood and sweat. My district partner is limping a bit and I notice a deep gash down the back of his calf. He stumbles and falls to the ground. _Now's my chance_. I charge forward, axe-arm raised. He stares up at me, horrified, knowing the end has come. I swing it down at him, roaring laughter with such ferocity that I scream myself awake before it makes contact with his chest.

I'm sweating. Not just that, the bed is drenched. But it doesn't phase me. There's a complex battle going on in my head, a fight that I know, in the end, I can't win. I'm still laughing, like the monster I'm becoming.

* * *

**A/N: I know I said I wanted to keep the chapters to a similar length but there's so much dialogue in this it was difficult. Also, I wanted to chapter to end on the first day of training, for the reasons detailed above. Next chapter will be up in a few days! Keep reviewing and tell people about the story? :)**


	6. Affirmed

I spend my second day of training with Liza. Her district partner, Malachi, elected himself the leader of our little posse, and set us the task of going over survival skills, while our other three allies continue to go over their weapon practice. A lot of the day is spent at the shelter-building, fire-making and edible plants stations.

"So, why did you volunteer?" She asks. The question won't be easy to avoid, I suppose.

"I..." _can't tell you, _"District Four hasn't had a victor yet so I figured I'd give it a go."

"Ah, that's cool." For a moment, she almost seems genuine.

"What about you?"

"I don't know if I'm allowed to say."

"You can tell me, and let's face it if I die, the secret will die with me."

"Well, you see, the thing is," Liza says. Could she be beating around the bush any more? "Six years ago some Peacekeepers had the men in our district build something. President Rook got bored within the first five years of the Games and apparently told the Head Gamemaker that she wanted to spice things up."

"So..."

"You know how training for the Games is illegal?" Somewhere in my head, a little voice is cackling maniacally at the irony.

"Yep."

"They built a training center for future tributes." _Those sneaky sons of bitches._ "They did the same thing in District Two, which is why Jean and Cadmus volunteered as well. We've all been trained to make the Games a little more exciting. They say that we'll be honoured among our Districts if we win, and as you can tell, it's already an honour to win in Two."

She's right, the celebrations are always particularly irksome in District Two. It must be because of the rumour I heard about the Peacekeepers being trained there too. In fact, I'm pretty sure they root for their tributes to kill each other. No wonder Cadmus isn't all too clever.

"Well that's... odd."

"Yeah, I thought so too, until I started training and realised just how wonderful it would be, not only for me, but for my family and for my district, if I won this thing."

I nearly put a hand on her shoulder, before reminding myself that I'm not making friends. The conversation dies there, and we turn back to our edible plant research.

Being from District Four, I don't recognise a single plant. There are no poisonous seaweeds and, if I remember correctly, there aren't any woods in the district. I take note of specific poisonous plants, such as redoul, a plant which has berries closely resemblant of blackberries, but cause numerous problems to bodily functions. I also discover a numbing plant, called kava, which has roots that, when powdered and mixed with water, act as a very potent sedative. Hopefully the arena has those, because there are far too many for me to ever remember even half of them.

Our final day of training revolves, once again, around weapon practice. I take turns sparring with Jean and Malachi, whose weapons of choice are a scythe and throwing stars, respectively. The handsome boy from One is surprised that I deflect every single one of his projectiles with ease. Although, I can't say I'm even slightly shocked that Jean matches me evenly, if not faster and with greater strength.

Over the course of both these days, again not surprisingly, I don't speak a word to Piccolo. On the third evening, Charon has a query.

"What do you plan on impressing the Gamemakers with tomorrow?"

"I'm going to slice up some dummies with the battle axe, sound good?"

"Sounds splendid. But what do you do if a battle axe isn't actually in the arena?"

"I... hadn't thought of that. No, wait, sickles are my second choice."

"Wonderful."

I don't expect him to sound too thrilled, so the monotonic way his voice turns isn't much of a shock. Especially after his confession, two days ago.

The time seems to fly through sparring with my allies, survival training and the nightmares that haunt my sleep, and in what feels like just a matter of hours, I'm waiting in line to be called in for my private training session.

Piccolo arrives a few minutes after me, and for a while we're sat in silence, until he taps me on the shoulder as Liza is called in.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry." He repeats himself.

"Yeah, I got that, but why are you telling me this now?"

"I need to ask you something." His eyes are fixed directly on my own, and I know he's serious. But I've already grown tired of him. I don't hate him, per se, but I'm not fond of him and not keen on spending so much time in his presence. Then again, I've never been able to hold a grudge for very long. Unless, of course, you count the very major one I have against the Capitol.

"Spit it out already."

"Well, basically," his voice drops to a whisper, "I know you're allied with the Ones and Twos, or Careers as some of us have decided to call the-"

"Careers?"

"Yeah, because this is pretty much a job to them, it seemed appropriate."

"I see. Go on."

"I figured, you aren't like them. I take back what I said about you becoming a monster, because you seem infinitely more welcoming and far better company, for one. You're only joining them to survive, right?" He waits for me to nod, before continuing. "Then once they turn on you, what do you plan on doing?"

I quickly look over to my allies, both from Two and Malachi from One, to find them in a raucous conversation. Strange, you'd think they'd include me. Maybe I am dispensable.

"I'm leaving them once the bloodbath is over, but they don't have to know that."

"Good. Would you like to ally with me?"

"I thought you were already allied with the boy from Six?"

"His name is Anton, and yes. Moira from Twelve is also with us." I raise an eyebrow. "She's tough, you know."

"Never said she wasn't, but she looks a bit... crazy. You might wanna watch that one."

That makes him smirk. "So what do you say?"

"Sure," before something in my mind clicks, "but don't expect us to be best friends. If need be, I will slit your throat without hesitation."

"Deal."

"Malachi Bijou," says a crackly voice from a speaker overhead.

We don't shake hands, as I think we both know that would draw attention to us. Two tributes from the same district having what appears to be a simple gossip is, funnily enough, not very suspicious. I turn to face the door just as Malachi steps through it. Jean and Cadmus are still deep in their discussion.

I can't help noticing, however, that the girl from Three snaps her head back to face straight forwards. She was listening to us. She knows about my plan, and she will, without a doubt, try to use it against me.

My mind races as I contemplate to repercussions of my choice while the four tributes in front of me are called in for their separate sessions. When my name is called, I've no choice but to accept the possibility, and hope, that Beta will die at the bloodbath before she even has a chance to speak.

I get up from my seat and glide through the doors with an all too familiar air of certainty.

The Gamemakers sit on a raised platform above the training area, judging every single step I take in this room. I can't help but feel like I'm being eyed by vultures, waiting for me to stumble and fall so they can come and get the pickings.

One of them sits forward from the rest. He wears deep purple robes, like royalty, I guess, and takes notes an electronic tablet in his lap. Charon was fiddling with something similar at breakfast, as he muttered on about schedules and timetables and plans and diary entries and all that other nonsense that really doesn't matter much to anyone besides an escort. Or, evidently, a standard Capitol citizen.

"Well?" The, I'm assuming, Head Gamemaker gestures forward.

"Mags Oracle, District Four." I nod curtly to my spectators.

"Yes, we know your name, get on with it."

_Oh if I could get away with it I'd throw a knife right through your skull._

I nod again, and walk hastily towards the station for axes. A gear halts in my brain and I suddenly finding myself heading for the station holding curved blades. My eyes fixate on the sickle as I hurry over the options.

Before I'm even fully aware, I've picked up the all-black short sickle and started front-flipping toward a dummy already laid out at the station. The blade is in its 'neck' before it has time to react. There are a couple of gasps from the platform, but I keep my show going. My gymnastics spectacle continues as I propel myself in the direction of the swords. I spin on my right hand as my left snatches up the closest blade and I practically fly at the closest dummy. My legs wrap themselves around its shoulders and pull it over, and I stab it where its heart would be. Letting my eyes flick to the Gamemakers, I notice that a few have stood up, but, as was my aim, the Head Gamemaker is leaning forwards, not wanting to miss a second of my performance.

In a matter of minutes I've finished my daringly intricate routine with the sweat only just starting to break, but panting heavily. I drop the final weapon I picked up, a small spiked club, and it falls to the ground with a _clang! _Analysing the final stage of my artistic endeavour, I realise that not only did I seriously damage some dummies beyond repair, the walls and floor also took quite a beating; there are chips of concrete scattered all around the room.

The Gamemakers who had been standing slink back to their seats, but every eye is still firmly set on me.

"Is that everything you'd like to show us?" The Head Gamemaker is still leant forward.

I consider showing them the survival skills I've learned over the last couple of days, in order to possibly gain a couple more points on my training score, but decide against it.

"Yes, thank you for your time," I say, through hastened breaths.

"Then you may go." He gestures toward the door opposite the one I came in. Well at least I won't have to be confronted by the other prying tributes. I curtsy, politely, and take my leave. Their stares remain ubiquitous as I exit the room.

"He's going to kill you, you know." I jump at the sound, which is odd for me because nothing ever makes me jump.

The girl from Three is sat in a chair just outside the room. Has she seriously been waiting for me this whole time? She follows me with her huge dark eyes. I also notice that her skin is slightly darker than her district partner's. Maybe she's one of the rare few from her district who actually care to venture outside.

"What?"

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Got the conversation started though, right?" She shrugs. "Beta Raja, District Three." She holds out her hands as though to shake mine. Common courtesy tells me to do so.

"Mags, Four."

"Yeah, so, anyway... I heard you talking to your district partner."

_No shit, nosey bitch. _

"Like I said, he's planning to kill you. He's been plotting with Anton and Moira all through training. I just thought you had a right to know."

_Nosiness confirmed. _

"So you've been eavesdropping on everyone? Bit rude, don't you think?" This makes her blush.

"Well, yes and no. At least I know who's got me in their sights."

_Damn, why didn't I think of that?_

For all I know, she's lying to me to try and get me to ally with and keep her safe after the bloodbath – that is, if she even makes it through. But I made a deal with Piccolo, and he seemed deadly serious at the time, so I will stick to that.

"Thanks for the information." I turn to leave, but she grabs my hand.

"I'm not lying."

"I really don't care. Goodbye and," hopefully, "good riddance."

I leave, but I feel her eyes lingering on me. My thoughts are validated when I turn to enter the elevator and see her expressionless but staring me down. I assume she'll wait there to try and sway Piccolo as well, and maybe even his allies as well. A part of me hopes she dies before I have a chance to kill her myself. Manipulative little freak.

I've worse things to worry about than her, though, and I ponder these in the elevator up to the fourth floor.

Firstly, I need to decide whether or not I'm actually going to leave the Careers after the bloodbath. If my suspicions are affirmed and I'm as expendable as my exclusion from their discussion made me feel, then I'd better get out of there fast because I'm sure to be the entrée in their murderous banquet.

In addition, there's the possibility that my alliance with Piccolo and Pals is actually a trap, and they'll all turn on me as well.

Both of these cases involve me either a) getting seriously injured and escaping on a whim but dying slowly, or b) dying right there and then. Quite frankly, neither of those choices sound very appealing.

"Hello, darling!" Eulalia is waiting outside the elevator to greet me. "How did it go?"

"Great, thanks. Where's Charon?"

"Oh, he, Solon and everyone else are just in the dining room." She puts an arm around my shoulder and leads me through the fourth floor to my escort.

"Look who's back!" she says, far too cheerfully for my liking.

"Fabulous! How was it, honey?" Charon stands and pulls out a chair for me to sit on. I accept his offer before replying.

"Ah, I think it went alright. I'm more concerned with what happened after, though."

"And what might that be?"

Solon is leaning towards the sound of my voice. I wonder why he's never considered surgery to replace his eyes. I'm sure the Capitol has some sort of procedure for that. I doubt I'll ever ask him, though, out of respect.

"Well, the girl from Three, Beta, was waiting for me. She wants us to be allies."

"Oh, yes, her mentor confronted me just after you left asking the very same question!" Charon replies, "I'm assuming you told her that position is already filled?"

"I told her nothing. But she reckons Piccolo is planning to kill me."

"Oh, does she?" Piccolo is standing a few feet behind me, leaning on one of the many shell-covered pillars our floor holds. "And more importantly, do you believe her?"

"Yes, and no I do not. Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

"No, as it goes," he says, sitting down next to Detra, "and just for the record, killing you is definitely not my first priority."

"It's lovely to see you two talking again!" Charon is so delighted he seems to be quivering in his seat. Or maybe that's just his outfit vibrating. You never know in the Capitol.

"Glad to hear it. Now if you'll all excuse me, I'll be in my room. When do we find out our scores?" I ask, not only because I'm eager to find out my own, but I'd like to know how well Beta did. For all I know that deceptive little snake has been putting on a timid front for the last three days, but turned into a beast in her private session.

"They will be broadcast at 7p.m. Don't be late!" Charon waves me off with a grin. Piccolo stares me out once again, but this time I sense admiration, rather than the desire to tear my throat out with his bare hands.

* * *

After dinner, the seal of Panem lights up the screen in front of our semi-circular sofa, while the overplayed anthem blares from the speakers. All conversation is ceased as Malachi's smirking face is shown, and a 9 flashes up below it. Both Liza and Cadmus also achieve the same. Jean, as I'd expect, gets a higher score than her comrades. I just didn't expect her to get the highest score attainable. The 12 almost makes my heart stop.

"Well that's a little unsettling," Piccolo says, as similar words fail to leave my lips. I just nod in agreement, no words means no stuttering.

The boy from Three's score is expectedly lower. Much lower, in fact, as he only gets a 3. Beta's poker face appears, and a 7 flashes underneath. Not too intimidating, I guess. Then again, she could have been holding back. By the waves, this girl is hard to decipher.

My district partner's, I'll admit, handsome visage stares out at us. A respectable 8 is shown beneath it, and Detra flies from her seat with a cheer.

"I knew you could do it, darling! I'm so proud of you!" She kisses both his cheeks as her prominent eyelashes attack his forehead. I can see him blushing and give a small smile as I congratulate him. A few pats on the back later and everyone is sat back down to find out how I did.

My own lacklustre features are shown and I lean forward in anticipation. It's only a matter of seconds, but it feels more like a lifetime, before the 12 fades into view.

The rainbow of people erupt into cheers and whoops around me and crowd to appraise me. I'm still reeling from the positive surprise as they swarm.

"We knew it!"

"I'm so proud!"

"My lord, this is amazing!"

"Well done!"

"This is fabulous!"

Eulalia is practically in tears, having spasms of joy that I can only describe as hilarious. Tiberius and Leon try to hold the woman together while Charon lays a hand on my back to show his pride. Solon stands, is led over by Detra and holds my hands in his own.

"Marvellous, my dear. I couldn't be more pleased. You're going to do wonderfully."

Piccolo appears at my side and puts his arms around me. I'm immediately taken aback, because the only people who have ever embraced me in this manner are my family. Even Sedna hasn't had this much contact with me. "Well done." He smiles, and somehow I understand that he's serious. I thought he'd have been jealous.

Everyone sits back down as the boy from Five is shown. Neither he or his partner score very high, so I dismiss the possibility of their victory. The same could be said for the District Six girl, Fleur, as she only gets a 4. Her partner, and Piccolo's ally, Anton, gets a presumingly well-earned 8. Seven, Eight and Nine show no promise, predictably. The – as I've now divulged from their actions during training – couple from Ten both get fives. Well at least they'll go down together, I guess. The tributes from Eleven score just as poorly. Colvin, the boy from Twelve, gets the lowest score of anyone, only managing to pull a 1. Moira, however, earns herself a 7, which just makes the fact that I'll be allying with her all the more difficult to accept. Panem's seal shows once again and the screen shuts off.

"Magnificent, you're both going to do brilliantly." Our escort is utterly giddy. "Now, if either of you would like a celebratory drink, you're welcome to stay. Otherwise, hurry to bed because we've got to practice tomorrow for your interviews, which will be in the evening, and we have quite a bit to go over."

"Goodnight, then." I smile to everyone and accept the repeated congratulations with a curtsy as I walk to my bedroom.

I slip off my clothing and immerse myself in the bed with no regard for my dignity.

Though I've not really doubted myself up to this point, the confidence has only increased further now.

There's no way I'm going home in a box.


	7. One Last Performance

"Flirty, fierce or fabulous?" Charon asks, holding three cards out in front of me, each of those three words written on one in a different font. I take the card titled 'flirty', flip it over and laughter erupts from my lungs.

"'Oh, Augustus, you look utterly delectable tonight!' You can't seriously imagine _me_ saying that, can you?" I say, giggle-ridden tears welling up in my eyes. Piccolo chuckles at my side.

"Now that you mention it, no, I can't." Our escort, and mentor, takes back the card with a sheepish expression, "My apologies, dear. Try the _fierce_ one, that would suit you more."

I take it from him and read it before deciding upon something more fitting.

"I don't think so. This is too... ferocious. I'd rather just use my own words."

"Really? What did you have in mind?"

"You'll see, later. What about you, Pic?" We're on a nickname basis now. I had a think this morning and decided that if we're to ally I might as well be nice. Not friendly, just nice.

"Well I was considering a similar approach, if that's alright with you Char?"

"That's just fine," he replies with a smile, "I love how confident you both are! What a fabulous pair for my first year."

We turn to one another and smirk. We've still not told him about our decision to ally after the bloodbath, in hopes of him being surprised, thus more impressed and willing to get the both of us more sponsors. Speaking of which...

"Any news on the sponsorship front?"

"Oh, yes! Eulalia informs me that you've both garnered a lot of attention, particularly you, Mags," he says, turning to me, "and Piccolo, you certainly have quite a hefty female following. Each of you have both already received offers for gifts and aid whilst in the arena!"

"That's great! Thanks so much, Charon."

"No need to thank me, it was the two of you who did all the work. You should be congratulating yourselves."

We get back to working on interview techniques, even though we're pretty much sorted. Charon goes over various seating positions, because he says, and I know, body language is important in determining one's intentions. There are also some pleasantries he talks about, because the Capitol is "much more refined and polite when compared with the districts". I take this opportunity to inform him that my parents brought me up to have manners, so I'll need no help there.

A few hours later and the both of us are up to Charon's standards. I have a feeling it wouldn't have taken so long if Piccolo hadn't kept tripping over his words and stuttering.

"Fabulous! We're all sorted. Now, I'll just go make calls to Solon and Detra and let them know that you're ready." He skitters off and I take this opportunity to question my district partner about the reaping.

"Pic?" I say, turning to face him.

"Yeah?"

"You know the reaping?" He nods, I mean, _duh_, "Why did all those boys move out of your way so quickly? It's like they were scared of you something. I've got to be honest, you don't seem all too terrifying now."

"That's because they were. I'm kind of a bully." _Knew it. _"But not just because I want to be."

"Oh?"

"My little sister, Caterina, is sick. She has been for a couple of years now. I scare the kids occasionally and take their money because it helps pay for her medicine. It's not because I want to hurt them at all. If there were an easier way of getting the money, I'd do it, but since jobs have been pretty sparse that wasn't exactly an option. I started swimming more the day she was diagnosed, and eventually I was big enough to intimidate them into just handing me the money. I don't enjoy it, but if it'll save her, I've got to do it."

I can't help it, the tears are already coming. I told myself not to have feelings in this place and this stupid, stupid boy has brought them all back. He's made my volunteering look like the most selfish act I've ever seen a person undertake, and he doesn't even know it. Rather unwillingly, I put my hand on his. My 'no friends' policy has just been tossed out the nearest window.

"I'm sorry, Piccolo."

"Don't be. Hey, if I win I can save her," he says with a weak smile. That's when it hits me, I can do something for him.

"If I win, I'll do the same. I'll get her as much help as I can. I promise."_ I really do._

"Thank you, Mags," he pulls me into another hug, still an alien act to me. My tears stop flowing as I embrace him.

"But you have to promise me something." I didn't intend on having a catch, until I remember this one thing.

"What's that?"

"If you win, I want you to train my brother, Thaddeus." If the Capitol is disgusting as I've thought them to be, there's a good chance my brother's going to be reaped if I don't make it. Although, even if I do survive there's the possibility that the same fate could become him.

"Okay, I promise." His eyes focus on my own and I know he's telling the truth.

"Thank you, too."

* * *

Tiberius curls the final few locks of my hair as Eulalia paints my left thumbnail a pale blue.

"Done! They'll be dry in three... two... one! Now, wave them."

I lift my hands up to my eye level and let them glide about in front of my face. My eyes widen immensely while the waves gush from my nails, disappearing into vapour a second or two later.

"How the..."

"Capitol couture, baby-doll!" Eulalia chirps, presenting her surgically whitened grin.

"Aaaand, we're done!" Tiberius informs us.

"We'll just go fetch Solon, sweetie. Come on, Tibs."

I wait in patience and anticipation, eager to see what Solon has come up with for my interview attire. I'm not alone for long, because in about twenty seconds Eulalia is leading my stylist into the room, holding a bagged piece of clothing on a hanger. The dress is slipped out and held up for me to admire, as was the case with my chariot outfit.

"You want me to cut this one up, too?" I ask, sarcastically. Solon cracks a smile.

"Only if you desire it, but there's only beauty in this design, no double/triple/quadruple-entendres."

"No hidden meanings, dear." Eulalia says, noticing my confused expression. I nod in thanks.

"Now, would you like to try it on?" Solon takes the dress from Eulalia and holds it out to me. It's a petite blue number with a tight bodice, like the previous precarious outfit I wore, with pleats down the bottom half. It is also belted around the waist with various shells in shades of blue and green. I'm lucky, really, since this dress only just covers my dignity. I unzip the Invisizip – one of the more discreet Capitol inventions – at the back and step into it. Eulalia fits me into it nicely and zips it back up. The inside is made of something called silk, and it feels like soft, cool waves against my skin.

"It's beautiful. Thank you, Solon."

"My pleasure, darling. Now... walk."

I do as he says and the sound is chilling. I can hear the ocean instead of a rustling dress, and the tears start to well up. Eulalia notices and hurries to comfort me.

"Honey, sweetie, darling! Don't cry, please, please, you'll mess up your make-up!" She squeaks, tissues at the ready. I don't know what's happening lately but my emotions are on overdrive. Maybe it's the possibility that I could actually be dead in just a couple of days, or – dare I say it – twenty-four hours.

Solon steps in to take the wheel and grabs my shoulders. There is serious concern in his endless gaze.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't, it's just..." I don't even have a thinkable reason for the tears.

"Don't worry. Emotions are a human necessity and inevitability." I smile at his wisdom and hug him. Seriously, I'm becoming so used to doing this now it just feels right. His arms hold me in and stroke my styled hair. It's like being in my father's arms again.

"Right, we must finish getting you ready. Slip these shoes on and we'll lead you downstairs." He takes the footwear from Eulalia and hands them to me. They're simple, cerulean strapped heels with a small line of decorative shells down the outer sides. I slide my small feet into them and we leave the room and head towards the elevator to meet with our companions.

"You look amazing," Piccolo is first to greet us. He's wearing a fitted, deep indigo suit with matching tie and white dress shirt.

"So do you," I reply with a blush and a smile. He smiles in return and we all pile into the elevator.

"You both look simply _divine,_" Charon babbles on with a hoard of compliments and appraisals for the two of us, "Splendid, absolutely."

The interviews are held on a stage outside the Training Center so we don't have far to go. When we reach the floor of the lobby, the other tributes are lining up ready to be presented to the Capitol citizens. All the boys look rather dapper in their suits, in various colours significant to their district; the girls match them with auras of beauty in a multitude of dresses.

Piccolo and I leave our posse and join our soon-to-be competition, between the kids from Three and Five.

"They're doing it again." I look to see what my district partner is indicating and find my supposed allies in a heated discussion yet again. Cadmus turns to see if the tributes from Three are listening, which from what I can tell, Beta is, and spots me as well. His eyes narrow and he rotates back into the conference with his allies. I've a feeling they're talking about me, and I don't like it. Luckily the conversation is killed by the signal for us to go onstage, and we sidle out of the lobby into the City Circle, assaulted by the cheers from the citizens as we each take our seats.

Augustus Flickerman, the interviewer and pretty much the face of the Games for the last eleven years sits on a comfortable armchair to the front of the stage. His hair is dyed lilac, with eyeshadow and his lips painted to match; strange, really, how his colour tradition has stuck for so long. He stands to welcome us and turns to greet his 'fabulous audience' as well as the rest of Panem, who are forced to watch what could potentially be the final words some of these children ever say. Augustus tells a couple of jokes for the audience, none of which are particularly funny or clever, and sits back down to begin.

Liza struts up to him with a disgusting grin on her face. She looks, I'll say it, like a common whore. Her laced gloves and tiny crimson dress give nothing but the impression that she's a representation of sex itself. She might have been nice in training but I've no real reason to like her. Especially after the sneakiness between her and the others.

I don't bother to listen to her dribble on about District One crap, nor do I pay attention when her three minutes is up and Malachi takes his place on the stage.

My mind is badgered by thoughts of what, exactly, those four were chatting so agitatedly about. Perhaps that weasel from Three told them about my conversation with Piccolo in hopes that they'd keep her alive. I doubt they would, but such vital information alone is enough to spare anyone in the Games for, at least, a couple of days.

Cadmus and Jean declare that each of them is as confident and vicious as the tributes from Two seem to be, every single year, even trying to belittle one another. I zone out again when Beta takes the stage and turns into, surprise surprise, a scared little girl again. Her district partner is taking his seat next to me before his buzzer has even sounded, too distraught to continue with his interview.

I'm still uncertain of exactly what to say, even as I sit down opposite my pale-and-purple interrogator.

"Wow! Your dress is gorgeous, props to your stylist!" I know the cameras will flick to Solon, so I scan the crowd and find him smiling, nodding appreciatively at the praise and applause.

"Now, my dear," Augustus turns back to me, "we're all curious to know why you volunteered, it seems, so happily, for the Games?"

Strange, I don't remember him asking the Ones or Twos why they volunteered. Then again, if what Liza told me is true then I'm assuming President Rook told him to keep his mouth shut on the 'training in the districts' front. Nonetheless, I present my answer, or lie, if you will.

"I couldn't stand to see another twelve year-old slaughtered in the first few minutes. Also, I figured that since Four is yet to have a victor, susprisingly, that I'd give it a shot."

"Ah yes! We saw your touching moment with little Naia. Do you know her personally, then?"

"No I do not."

"I see," he seems disappointed by the lack of relation between us, as it probably would've spiced up the interview a little. "Now, Mags – can I call you Mags?"

"Why yes, everybody does!" I say, repeating my introduction at the reaping.

The audience bursts into unharmonious laughter and their squawks offend my ears.

"Brilliant! But yes, moving on, _Mags_," he winks to more giggles from the babboons in the crowd, "what do you think of the Capitol?"

_I despise the place._

"Oh it's _amazing_! The people are so nice and the food is delicious. Oh, and the décor is fabulous. Much better than half the run-down old sea shacks back in Four!" I lie, depreciating my district unwillingly to another bout of cackles. I've got to win over this audience if I'm going to get any sponsors, though.

"Excellent. Now let's discuss your training score. I have to say, I and a number of other people, were shocked to see not one, but two twelves in this year's runnings. Any detail on how you attained such a high score?"

"Now, now, that would be telling. Besides, I'm sure you'll all see tomorrow."

"I do hope so! Well, your time is almost up, my dear. I have the utmost confidence that I'll be seeing you very soon," _of course you do, you say that to all of the tributes_, "and I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say that you're welcome here in the _amazing _Capitol whenever you please!" He takes my hand, we both stand up and he nods politely as the buzzer sounds. I sidle back to my seat as Piccolo is leaving his, and he smiles to me on the way.

My district partner becomes the playful, flirty type, complimenting Augustus' suit as well as various other aspects of the atrocity at the front of the stage.

I take barely any notice of those who follow Piccolo, partly because I just don't care enough, but more so because I'm relieved that my final part in the pre-Games is done. All I have to worry about now is killing 23 other children, which, I'll be honest, doesn't bother me much. It's the thought that they'll be in pain that's the problem.

The only other interviewee who leaves an impression on me is Moira from Twelve, who seems to intimidate Augustus, as he appears to be shaking in his seat. Given his normal air of bravery and emotionless state, I know now to watch this girl, because she could, as much as it pains me to say it, be the death of me.

Eventually, the anthem plays and myself and the other tributes file back into the lobby. We get into the elevator in groups of eight, which, coincidentally, makes for an awkward ride back up to the fourth floor with my meant-to-be allies, the snidy bitch from Three and her shaky partner. Self-evidently, we travel in silence.

Our escort, stylists and prep teams are ready to congratulate us once again on our 'magnificent performances'. We go straight the dining room to enjoy what could be our final moments of Capitol pleasure. A number of Avoxes come in and present us with a luxurious bounty of food and an array of multicoloured drinks, but the sight of it all just makes me miss the simplicity of my home again. Regardless, I take a seat next to Piccolo and munch on a stick of asparagus wrapped in bacon.

The conversation is large and loud, particularly between the prep teams, so I take the opportunity to pose a question to Piccolo.

"Do you think we should tell Charon?"

"Tell him what?"

"That we're going to team up."

"No, I still don't think it wise to let him know. I mean, like you said before, it's best that we continue to impress whilst in there because it'll give us a better chance of getting sponsors."

"I suppose so, but I just think we needn't let him worry longer than he should."

"I don't think he will worry. He's got confidence that we'll be fine, I'm sure of it."

"Okay, we'll keep this to ourselves then."

We turn back to our food and listen to the others have discussions about pointless Capitol things that are of no real interest to either of us, but we nod and smile to seem courteous anyway.

It's almost midnight before Charon dismisses us off to bed, reminding us what a big day tomorrow is. Well, it's not likely we'll forget anytime soon.

I bid my partner goodnight and good luck, in case anything goes wrong tomorrow and one of us does wind up dead within the most vicious part of the Games. He returns this favour and we retire to our rooms.

Thankfully, I sleep rather well. I dream only of times past, happy memories with my brother and a number of days I'd spent on the boats with Eri. My father also appears in my dreams, once or twice, but fades as quickly as he came, reminding me eerily of the one word that has haunted me since I was three years-old.

* * *

Charon knocks on the door three times and my eyes fly open.

"Mags, dear, time to go."

I get up, with somewhat of an awkward smile on my face. I don't know why it's there, it just is. I throw on the clothes laid out on the dresser – black tank top and fitting khaki trousers – slip into some comfortable sneakers and brush my teeth. Weirdly, I don't remember any tributes brushing their teeth at all during their time in the Games, and I'm intent on maintaining at least some level of personal hygiene whilst in there – wherever _there_ may be.

Upon leaving the room, I find that my partner is all ready in a similar get-up and waiting for me with Charon, as well as Solon and Detra.

"Good morning, I hope you're excited," says Charon, seeming rather sullen.

"To tell the truth, I am," I remember that my odd smile must still be showing,

"Lovely. Now, you'll be transported to the arena via hovercraft, and your stylists will accompany you. This may be the last time I see each of you, so I'd like you to know what a pleasure it has been to be your escort. I have quite enjoyed our time together, and I hope to see you soon." Then he leaves. I notice the tears building as he walks away. Maybe he does care. Maybe he really does hate the Games.

Within minutes, myself, Piccolo, Solon and Detra have taken the elevator to the roof of the Training Center, awaiting our transportation. A ladder falls from the air as a hovercraft materialises at the other end, and I hold onto one of the rungs. I find myself stuck by a slight current of electricity, but I can't say I'm too worried. I wouldn't like to fall from such a great height anyway. Once inside the hovercraft, I remain on the ladder as a Capitol attendant dressed all in white takes my arm and pierces the underside with a needle. I can't speak to ask, but I realise that this must be my tracker, so the Gamemakers can keep an eye on my location and health at all times during the Games.

The ladder releases me from its pull and I take a seat on the hovercraft. Solon arrives within the next couple of minutes, closely followed by an Avox carrying a few trays of food. I don't think, I just eat. I'm going to need as much energy as I can get if I don't manage to attain enough supplies at the Cornucopia.

I realise only now that Piccolo and Detra must have been taken on another hovercraft, but don't question it.

The hovercraft glides away from the Capitol and over forests and what I can only assume are other districts I must have passed on the train, but failed to notice. It's about an hour into our journey before the windows are blacked out, and Solon explains, as well as my logic suggesting, that we're close to the arena, and nothing is to be given away.

Soon enough, we land, and the ladder takes us down into the catacombs underneath the arena. I remember that I forgot to shower before leaving my room this morning, and am surprised to find a shower in the Launch Room. Solon encourages me to have one, because there may not be the opportunity to do so in the arena. I agree, and follow his instructions. The water is somewhat of a relief to me, and as hot as it is, I still try to take gulps of it. From what I remember, pure water is hard to find in the Games, and I don't intend on missing out on what may be my last taste of it.

I dry off and Solon presents me with my arena clothes when I approach him. They're simple enough, similar to the clothes I threw on this morning, but all black with a thin windbreaker jacket and brown boots. They don't, however, give any indication to what the arena may be, which I suppose was the intention of the Gamemakers.

He tells me to turn around, and something cool is placed around my neck.

"My token, how on earth did I forget this?"

"I don't know, but I made sure to look after it for you." He says, smiling sympathetically. "Do your best, darling. All my faith is in you."

"Thank you, Solon."

A voice overhead begins to count down until the circular plates rise, and I step onto my own. Three, two, one, darkness.

I'm only immersed in pitch black for a few moments before a faint light hits my eyes, but bright enough to make me want to cover them at first.

It dims, and I open them, only to find that I'm surrounded by a dense fog. I can just make out the faces of the boys from Five and Nine on either side of me about a metre and a half away, and I remember that I never did bother to learn their names. The fact that I can't see the Cornucopia dawns on me, but I know it's directly in front of me, so that's where my eyes focus.

I hear a few nervous mutters, a scream, then a whimper, before the voice of Arabella Templesmith is emitted from every angle.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 11th Hunger Games begin!"

The second countdown I've heard today starts, and I ready myself for what will happen in sixty seconds. My eyes continue adjusting to the fog, which seems to sting a little, but I disregard it and remain concentrated on the newly visible faint golden glow ahead of me.

I wonder if my 'allies' will recognise me here, realise that I'm one of them. I wonder if Beta will turn out to be more deadly than she makes people believe. I wonder if the boys to my left and my right will try and take me out together.

The gong sounds, and I leap off my plate.

_Well, I guess there's only one way to find out._

* * *

**A/N: No hints for the arena, but I promise you'll find out in the next chapter :D I hope you like everything up to this point, and I'm so excited to present you all with the Games. Thanks for sticking with me, and keep reading and reviewing!**


	8. Bloodlust

_Don't think. Just run. Don't think. Just run. Don't think. Just run._

That's what I keep telling myself, and I follow my instructions. The closer I get to the Cornucopia, the less dense the fog becomes, and I can see a number of tributes piling in around me. Everyone seems to just stop and stare for a moment before we all charge, screaming as we do.

Jean is the first to reach the great golden horn, and picks up the first scythe she sees, I spot her running out and the District Five boy, who'd been standing next to me only moments ago, is sliced across the waist in less than a second.

I follow her lead and run directly into the mouth of the Cornucopia, only to be whacked across the face by a club. Moira from Twelve lingers over me holding a regular club in one hand and a spiked one in the other. She hasn't realised who I am, and raises the spiked weapon above her head but is tackled by an unknown tribute before she can land a fatal blow. I sit up, and can just make out the small figure of her district partner trying to pummel away at her face, but she flips him onto his back and bashes the crap out of his. She lifts the club above her again and smashes it down into his skull.

With no time to lose, I get myself up and run back into the Cornucopia, grabbing a hatchet before turning and spotting it. The battle axe sits apart from the other weapons, calling my name, beckoning me towards it. I sprint to the back of the horn and snatch it up, but the weight is heavier than the one from training. Nonetheless, I have both hands dragging it along beside me and the hatchet from before attached to my belt.

I group with Jean who is now guarding the Cornucopia, and survey the other tributes. The fog has cleared quite a bit and dotted here and there are tributes sparring viciously.

Liza is matched, weirdly, by the boy from Three, but takes him down with a hasty knife to the neck. Cadmus, the brute he is, has pinned Willow from Seven and has his hands in a tight grip around her neck. She tries to put up a fight with her legs, but to no avail. In a matter of moments she's stopped breathing entirely and her flailing ceases.

Malachi appears on my other side, panting.

"Just starred the girl from Eleven," he says, pointing out the small body roughly twenty metres away, bleeding profusely from the back of its head.

A little to the left of her body, the couple from Ten has a variety of backpacks and are running hand-in-hand away from the Cornucopia. I feel for them, and want to shout out, but hold back, as I spot the girl from 9 in quick pursuit, holding a dagger, ready to strike. She catches up to them and runs alongside, swiftly slicing the blade up through the girl's hand, then bringing it back round and stabbing her in the heart. The girl collapses in a bloody heap, and 9 stands over her, proud of her kill. Tilman, the dead girl's partner, notices the lack of weight in his hand and screams, dropping his lover's severed limb from his grasp. He drops all of his backpacks, three, I count, and charges full-force at the girl from 9, roaring like a deranged animal. She doesn't see it coming, the mace, right in the back of her head. He continues to smash her to pieces, even when her body has stopped moving and her cries have stopped coming.

Cadmus starts toward him, but Jean commands him to stop, to his disappointment.

"That's enough, Cadmus!"

Tilman's rage slows after another minute. He remembers where he is, picks up two of the backpacks, drops his mace and runs for dear life.

"I could've taken him!" Cadmus stomps up to his district partner.

"Without a weapon?"

"He was tiny, I'm huge." The stupidity in his reply reminds me of a caveman story my mother once told me, '_me big, you small_'.

"It doesn't matter, he was filled with anger and I doubt he would've stopped with that mace if you went anywhere near the body of his little girlfriend. Grow a brain cell and fucking use it, you moron."

Remind me not to get on Jean's bad side. Evidently she's assumed the role of leader since she's a far more menacing person for the job than Malachi.

"Besides, we've all had a kill each, which is enough for now."

_I haven't, oops._

"Wait, come to think of it, I don't remember you killing anyone, Mags."

_Crap. She had to, didn't she. Come on, Mags, reason, reason, reason._

"I had the girl from Twelve to deal with. That great oaf wouldn't get off of me."

"Well if you don't make a kill in the next 48 hours, we'll be sure to make you one of ours."

I shudder at the thought. I'm strong, but I couldn't possibly take on all four of them. Then I remind myself that I won't have to, if my plan works.

"Guys, the cannons haven't sounded yet. That must mean there are still other tributes here. Why don't I go scout them out and make you proud of me at the same time?"

Jean raises an eyebrow.

"Don't get cocky. But yes, you go do that. Liza, go with her."

"Right, boss."

Liza's dim-wittedness almost makes me laugh. Why look up to someone when they could potentially be the death of you in just a couple of days?

"Let's go."

The other three sort about, trying to make some kind of organised pile of backpacks and resources at the Cornucopia. Which reminds me...

"Maybe Liza and I should take a backpack or two in case something happens to you three? Or we have to make a speedy getaway and can't make our way back to you?"

Cadmus gives us a thumbs-up. Apparently Jean is too engrossed in her ordering of packs to notice the deception in my voice. I pick up two of the backpacks nearest me, and Liza picks up another. She's got a knife in hand, one up each sleeve and a number of them attached to her belt. All I've got is the battle axe and hatchet.

We stroll off into the fog, which as I expected, gets denser the further away from the Cornucopia we go. We walk for about ten minutes with Liza chattering away in my ear. Luckily enough, the fog isn't so thick that we bump into the various walls surrounding us. Still, there's no indication of where we could possibly be. Suddenly, I hear a whimper and muffled voices, halting me in my tracks.

"Liza, shut up." I put a hand over her mouth and she stops still.

"What is it?" She whispers, removing my hand with her own blood-stained fingers. I turn to face her and put a finger to my lips.

The voices are closer now.

"Are you okay Dona? Do you need some water? Can you walk alright?" It's the boy from 8, Remy, and his partner is with him. They're about ten metres away, but haven't spotted us yet.

"I'm fine, Remy, stop worrying. We just have to get as far from the Cornucopia as we can, but with this fog I can't see a thing!"

"We will, we'll get away soon."

I begin to step, lightly, signalling for my accomplice to stay where she is. From what I can see, they don't have a single weapon in their possession. I can handle these two just fine.

"No you won't."

They can't see me, but their heads flick about, disoriented. I start to circle them slowly, letting my axe drag and create sparks and they get even more confused.

"It's a fire! There's a fire starting Dona! We're going to die!" Remy shouts.

I quicken my pace, the sparks getting more violent as I run. Whenever they get close, I slam the axe on the ground to push them back, closing the distance between us. Maintaining this speed, they're trapped. I've got them. They continue to scream throughout, and drop to the ground clinging one another desperately.

"I'm sorry, Dona. I'm so sorry."

"As am I, Remy."

I close in on them, lift the axe to the side and cut through the fog blindly. Their sobs stop, and two objects fly through the air as blood spatters my face and chest. Liza screams as the heads of my victims land at her feet. What a wimp.

But something courses through me, and forces me to drop to the floor. Guilt.

I just killed two people. Two, innocent, defenceless people. I didn't even give them a chance. Piccolo's words rush back to me.

_"Like you could kill so easily, and be unfazed by it. Like... like a _monster._"_

I say the last word aloud and begin to laugh, no, cackle. Cackling like I've gone insane. Like a deranged creature set on killing everything in its sight.

"Mags?"

My blood-stained face clicks in Liza's direction, but no words come out.

"Are you okay? Mags?" She inches closer to me, stupid little girl.

I get up, leaving my axe behind, taking the hatchet from my waist. She's a metre away, but the fog has thickened, and she can't see me, but she'll see the axe I just dropped. I dodge to her left and slice at her heels with my hatchet, causing her to drop to her knees, and her blades clatter to the ground. She reaches for a knife on her belt, but I get to it first. I flick it upwards and hold it to her neck.

"W-why?"

"_Monster._ I'm a _monster_."

"But you're n-not. You had to do it. H-how else are you going to get home?"

I realise my grip on her neck is too tight, and I can barely hear her speak. Somehow, the words bring me out of my daze and I remember who I am.

Something's happening to me, and I have no control over it. It's like a trigger, the thought of blood. It makes me... change.

I help my ally to her feet, but my shoulder emits a pain greater than anything I've ever felt. Liza has just stabbed me. My legs still work, so I kick hers out from underneath her, after having helped her up. I snatch the knife from my shoulder and hiss at the pain. I throw it down, barely missing her head.

"You're on your own," I spit. I collect my battle axe and the two backpacks I set down before committing double murder, and leave her. I'm about a hundred metres away before she calls for them, the people who will most definitely have me in their sights now. She screams for what must be at least five minutes before they arrive, and I sprint. They'll hear my footsteps, no doubt about it.

As luck would have it, their voices echo around this entire area, which isn't enormous, by the way. They decide to head back to the Cornucopia and heal up their injured ally.

Nine cannons are boomed across the arena. Nine dead tributes.

I'm leaning against a wall as I walk, using my good shoulder for support against it. The fog clears entirely, and a lengthy street comes into view.

I'm in a ruined city. It looks remarkably like the Capitol – if the Capitol had been left to decay for hundreds of years, that is. Vines creep up the sides of the towering buildings and deep cracks line the streets. I look down into one of the wider ones and find a substance bubbling at the bottom. I have not a doubt in my mind that I'll soon be finding out what that is.

For now, though, I have to find shelter and tend to my wounds. I'll look for Piccolo and the others later on.

I don't stop walking, though. The buildings look eerily dangerous and I can't bring myself to enter any of them for fear that they'll cave in on top of me; that would be one of the least impressive ways to die. It appears that no matter how much shelter there is, not an inch of it seems safe, and I'm not willing to risk it.

My legs ache by the time I've traversed a number of gorge-ridden roads, leaping across the greater ones. I aim to keep the distance between myself and my former allies as wide as possible for the time being. I've reached what I presume may have once been a park, but now looks far too unruly to still be such. A few hundred metres ahead of me, I spot the most desired resource the Games can offer. Water.

I didn't realise how thirsty I'd gotten until now. If my mouth wasn't so dry, I'm sure I'd be drooling. I run the entire distance as fast as I can manage and pull a bag from my shoulder and dig through it until I find what I need. Three large, empty water bottles. I carry two of them, lidless, over to the water source. Reaching its edge, I discover that it stretches for miles in both directions. It's a river. There's a bridge, fallen to pieces a few hundred metres to the right, stopping us from getting to the opposite shore unless we swim to it.

I fill up my water bottles and dig in my bag for two of the purifying pills I spotted earlier. I pop them into the bottles and slip them into the bag to keep them cool while they work their magic. Steadying myself, I stand up and walk back to the water's edge. On one hand, sitting like this overlooking the water reminds me of home. But on the other, it's nothing like home. Nothing like the place I grew up in and learned to love. The place I will so desperately try to return to. I will fight to get back home.

The sun peeps through the clouds and lights the entire area around me, bouncing off the waves and almost blinding me. I hadn't noticed how gloomy the weather was until now. I'm even surprised it hasn't rained yet.

As if on cue, the drop lands on my nose. It's not like the acid rain I've witnessed in past Games, though. This is just plain old regular rain. I sit and admire it for a while, mesmerised by the splashes against my skin. It reminds me of the days spent on the boats with Eri, and the storms we had to face together, my stepfather and I. A part of me wishes those days were spent in the same situation, but with my real father. Though I'm grateful for everything Eri has done, and I love and respect him more than any other man.

My mother had been unable to cope without my father after the rebellion began, and Eri was there to console her, and keep her from going completely crazy. He'd talk to her every night, be a shoulder for her to cry on and look after me when she wasn't capable. I suppose I owe him for having brought me up for so long, and for saving my mother. I'll repay him when I'm out of here. I'll buy him whatever he wants, and take care of him as he did for me and my mother.

The rain continues, seemingly refusing to stop. I know it's a Gamemakers' way of driving tributes into the shelter, but I'm not going to fall for it.

I do, however, decide I'd better keep moving. I fill up my final water bottle, purify it, take a huge gulp and head off. I discovered that one of my backpacks contains a glorious amount of food: slices of bread, dried beef strips and dried fruits. As I walk, I munch on a slice of the bread, since its a source of carbohydrates and will give me the most energy.

The sun is still visible behind the rainclouds, but eventually it sets and I'm plunged into what could easily be an artificial darkness.

My weapons and baggage soon become too heavy and I slump in the middle of the street. A decayed sign clatters off a wall on one of the buildings, making me jump backwards. I can just make out the letters 'S', 'T', 'H', 'R', 'E' and 'T'. 'S th r et' sounds like an odd name for a road... or whatever this sign indicates. There have been quite a few bent, crumpled street signs scattered about the roads I've walked, but so far this has been the only moderately decipherable one.

The stars look strange tonight, too luminescent. Then I remember that they can't possibly be so bright in real life. They never were back in District Four, anyway.

I tell myself I have to keep walking, no matter the cost. My good night's sleep yesterday was beneficial, since it's unlikely I'll be getting any tonight.

It's a strain on my legs but I don't stop. The voice in my head, the non-crazy one, reminds of the brother back home, the adorable little boy I've grown up with. Instinctively, my free hand reaches up to my conch necklace. I lift it to my ear, and sure enough, there's the sound I love the most. Smooth waves and the ocean breeze. It calms me, but also imbues me with another bout of adrenaline. A smile crosses my lips. The first since my brush with insanity earlier today.

My footsteps become rhythmic and the battle axe clangs on the ground every so often. I'm like a one-woman band, I just need the lyrics. They seem to come naturally, a poem my mother sang me when I was young. A tale of sea monsters. It seems fitting, given my current emotional and mental states. I whisper, so as not to be heard.

_"__Out in the deep dark depths,__  
__Swim monsters beyond comprehension.__  
__They sit around drinking meths,__  
__Honing their perception._

_When they spot an unwary creature,__  
__They'll rise up fast underneath.__  
__Surprise is their primary feature,__  
__Followed closely by their teeth._

_I once saw such a monster strike,__  
__Out in the Pacific rim.__  
__It had a whopping big spike,__  
__And an evil looking grin._

_It grabbed an orca,__  
__And pulled it down to the abyss,__  
__You wouldn't see that in Majorca,__  
__And if you could, you'd give it a miss._

_I saw another out in the Atlantic,__  
__It looked like a giant bee.__  
__Its prey was getting frantic,__  
__As it struggled to get free._

_Sailors say the stories are a guess,__  
__They don't know what lies in store.__  
__They compare them to Loch Ness,__  
__And dismiss them as folklore._

_But I'm a creature of the sea,__  
__I spend a lot of time out there.__  
__I know what I see,__  
__And I know the monsters of nightmare."_

* * *

**A/N: **** I know this is my second update today, but I was just so eager to post the bloodbath. I hope you all enjoyed it and I should have the next chapter up within the next few days. Review please!**

**Poem is not my own. It is written by Sebastian Seal.**


	9. Witness

"Good morning tributes! I hope you're all doing well. Obviously, for those of you still alive, the odds have been in your favour. However, we have noticed that some of you still lack something rather important. Therefore, this is to announce that all sources of water within the arena will become acidic once the anthem is played tonight. So some of you had better get moving! And once again, may the odds be ever in your favour."

I disregard the announcement, because I should be fine for water if what I collected yesterday lasts me a few days. It must be about 10 a.m., judging from the sun's position, but telling the time via sun has never been a great skill of mine.

The long walk last night has definitely taken its toll on me. Every muscle in my body aches. Considering I trained for this, I'm still not quite as cut out for the walking as I thought I'd be. I would have slept last night, but the adrenaline took control. I'm still walking.

At some point during the night, a parachute materialised and fell near me, with a sticky pink cream for my shoulder, with a note from Charon. I applied the cream generously while I read.

"You're doing fabulously, sweetie. C x"

I spent ages trying to work out what he meant with the 'x', but decided it was one of those weird Capitol traditions they tried to bring down from the past. By the time I came to that conclusion, my shoulder wound had closed up completely, and I slipped the small pot into one of my bags.

I've walked back and forth beside the railing, overlooking the large expanse of water, about ten times now. It's tiring, but at least I'm not stuck in one place for too long. I assumed the park would become more dangerous during the night so I decided not to venture back inside.

However, I am going back in today. I have to find something important, something that will help me prove a point.

I spend a couple of hours scouring every bush, the base of every tree, to find the plant I'm looking for. It must be around midday when I find it. Kava, the sedative. I drop all my bags and weapons and pull the plant from its root. It takes a minute or two, but soon I've got the entire kava plant out of its home. I lay out the small piece of tarp I found in my smaller backpack last night, and get to work straight away.

Using the hatchet carefully, I cut the roots away from the rest of the plant. Then I cut those into tiny pieces and leave them to dry.

The potentially artificial sun is at its highest point in the sky. I wipe the sweat from my brow as I leave the roots to dry out by the railing. I lean against it and admire my near-complete work. I've got to wait a while, so I take a chance and rest. I'm bound to hear someone coming anyway.

I drift off quickly, which shouldn't be surprising. The sun definitely has an effect on my dreams, because all I feel is heat and my dreams circulate around fire. My house is burning down, and my family are all trapped inside. Thaddeus tries to call for me but the smoke chokes him, and I can't do a thing to help. Every time I run towards them, a wave of heat flies out and throws me back. Eri is crying, he's failed our family. I want to tell him it isn't his fault, but there isn't a part of me that can be sure. I love him, but I don't know what caused this fire. They're going to die.

"Help, please! Help!"

My mother is screaming, shouting from a window on the first floor.

"Help! District Four, is that you? Help!"

Then something yips and snarls. What the hell?

I snap awake, uncertain of what beast could be attacking my family. But none of them are there. Just the sun, blinding me. And my mother, screaming again.

"Help me, PLEASE!"

But that's not my mother.

The District Five girl is running in circles through the trees of the park. I can just make out something chasing her, but it hasn't seen me yet, and I doubt it'll spare both of us if given half the chance. It's bright orange, with an electric blue patch on its many tails. It looks almost like something I saw on the outskirts of the district, once, outside the barrier. I think Eri called it a fox. But that one only had one tail. One word springs to mind when I spot the creature bounding out from behind another tree: mutt.

Confirmation comes when it growls again and a green substance flies from its mouth. It comes into contact with the girl's skin and starts to sizzle as she screams and stumbles. That's her final mistake, because in the second she took regaining her balance and crying for my help yet again, the fox mutt is on her.

Pinning her down, it scratches her face. The sickly green goo seeps from its teeth into her wounds, making her weep in pain.

This whole time I've just sat and watched, done nothing to help her. My face shows no emotion, for as much as I'd _love_ to help her, I know I shouldn't. The sooner she dies, the sooner I can go home.

But she doesn't die soon, not at all. The fox nips and tears at her for what feels like days, even though it is merely hours. After a while, she's drained herself of tears, and gives up resisting. The mutt has ripped her skin to shreds, but no cannon has sounded. I don't know how, but this girl is refusing to give up. She can't fight back, and yet her body is doing it for her.

Eventually the contrast-coloured mutt leaves the girl to bleed out, her thousand wounds beginning to fester from its venom. She's just laying there, deteriorating. Maybe the mutt did tear her vocal chords out? But surely it would have had to have torn her whole throat out to do that. The District Five girl is dying in silence.

She can move, though. I can see her trying to move her legs and arms, wincing as she does.

That's when I decide I have to do something. This is too much to watch, now.

I snatch up the now-dry, chopped kava roots to create a powder. A bowl like the one the instructor used in training would have been nice, but a girl can't have everything.

Perhaps a sponsor heard my thoughts, because something silver floats down in front of me. I'm guessing they think I'm preparing a poison, because when I unwrap the package from the parachute I'm presented with a pair of small syringes, and a medium-sized cup.

I take some of my water and tip some into the cup, grab a pinch of the kava powder and mix it around with my finger. The syringes will help, I guess, because then I could use it as a local anaesthetic on each of her wounds. It'll ease the pain until she passes.

Holding a syringe, leaving the other filled up by my possessions, I check my surroundings to make sure the mutt isn't lurking. Luckily, it appears to have lost all interest and the girl from Five is semi-squirming alone. I kneel at her side, and she manages a small smile.

"Took your time."

I take in her injuries. Every inch of her arms, legs and torso are torn, bloody and discoloured. A couple of fingers lie in the grass a little off to her side. Her hair remains intact. I hadn't noticed before, but it's a lovely bright red, like the fur of the fox, yet more pure. She coughs, and blood leaks from her mouth. I don't reply, but I hold up the syringe.

"Lyra Moon, District Five."

BOOM.

She's gone.

I didn't even get to administer her a relief from her pain, and she died suffering. I let this happen.

Maybe I am a monster. I may not have killed her myself, but I didn't help her either, I just let that thing ruin her.

But maybe in those last seconds she was happy, or perhaps she was remembering a wonderful memory. I wonder what her family thinks of me, the girl who did absolutely fuck all to help their daughter.

It's happening again, my emotions are revealing themselves when they shouldn't. The tears start to flow and I get up, syringe in hand, and run back to my things. I drop the syringe next to the other and lean over the railing, letting the slices of bread I ate during the night fly into the water.

_But a monster would be unfazed by death._

I've got to get myself together. I told myself I would win and prove something to the Capitol by it, and that's what I'm going to do.

The hovercraft comes to collect Lyra's body, while I collect my own belongings and leave the scene. I carry on next to the railing, the path I'm so used to now.

It takes longer than it had last night, and the sun is setting again by the time I'm there, but I reach the cross I made with a couple of twigs. It had been my stopping point, until now. I step over it and keep walking.

Fortunately, I don't encounter any other tributes here. The sun goes down, and I can sense it'll be another restless night. I watch the stars again, as I walk, and they seem to dance for me. In this horrifying could-change-at-anytime place, they're a beautiful constant.

I'm so lost in my stargazing, I almost miss the anthem.

Lyra's face is shown, and no others. The Gamemakers won't like that. But it is only the second day, they can't complain after their, probably satisfactory, nine deaths yesterday.

Then I hear a bubbling noise, and look to my left. There is steam rising from the water and bubbles up and spits occasionally. They weren't joking – it's acid.

I ignore it and carry on walking. I've got enough water for a while now, I'll be fine. For the first time today, I wonder how the others are doing.

Piccolo will have grouped with Moira and Anton after the bloodbath, no doubt about that. Judging by the lack of their faces in the sky, they're alright as they are. Maybe they're looking for me. Little worried about what Moira might do when she sees me, though.

The Careers will probably be at the Cornucopia. Hopefully Liza still isn't fully healed. That memory floods back to me, and makes my shoulder ache a little. Capitol medicine doesn't erase memories, it seems.

Unless Beta grouped with anyone, she's on her own. That just leaves Fleur from 6, Cedar from 7, the boy from 9 (whose name still eludes me), Tilman from 10, and little Lovett from 11.

Ten down, thirteen left to die.

I try to take my mind off the thoughts of the possible ways in which these kids might die. It's weird, not long ago I'd have been happy to think of murderous plots and ways to kill them. But now I can hardly bear to dwell on it for too long.

The bubbling dies down, leaving the water cool and steady. The Gamemakers probably used the bubbling as a signal, and now anyone that didn't see it, nor listen to the announcement earlier today, will assume that it's just as it was yesterday. Sneaky bastards.

Off across the water, the fog gets thicker, but stops just before it reaches the stars. If I stare hard enough, I can see a dim green glow. It's not scary, so I want to be able to check that out before I get out of here. Hopefully there'll be something there to help me win, or at least keep me alive a little bit longer. But I'd have to figure out a way to get across the water if I were to do that. _Great plan, Mags._

I pull a bag of the dried fruit from one of my bags and munch as I walk, strapping my axe to my bag so it doesn't drag and attract attention. One or two of the roads have flickering streetlamps along them. I'm almost certain I spot things leaping in and out of the light, and I'm not willing to find out what they are anytime soon; especially if they're anything like that _thing_ from earlier.

The stars are such a distraction, it takes me a while to realise that there's no moon visible in the sky. Perhaps it's behind one of the still enormous buildings, but I doubt it.

My rustling bag of fruits must have caught something's attention, because I haven't long passed the emerald-esque fog when it speaks.

"Hello, Four."

* * *

**A/N: Any guesses who it is? :D Sorry if this seemed a little short! The chapters in the Games will all be varied lengths, depending on how eventful they are, obviously. I hope you liked this, and I hope Lyra's death wasn't as emotional for you as it was for me. Reviews are always welcome *hint*.**


	10. Compliance

It's a girl's voice. Dry and raspy, but distinctly high. She's panting, too, from what I can hear. She isn't moving though, she's noticed that I've stopped moving and is probably too scared to come closer. I can't say I blame her, with the enormous battle axe on my back.

"Mags?"

It's a voice I know, one I've definitely heard before. I'm not looking until I've got confirmation though.

"Mags? Hello? It's me. Beta."

_Knew it._ Sneaky little weasel has probably been tracking me all day. I turn to face her, and the image of the quiet, dark-skinned girl I'd known from the Capitol is completely gone. She's pastier than before, her skin paled from dehydration and starvation. The bags under her eyes are even heavier than my own. There's a deep gash in her left arm and a less fatal one across her waist. Instinctively, I pull my hatchet from my belt and inch closer to her.

"Look, if you're going to kill me please just get it over with," she says, with a pained look in her eyes. Her voice wavers, like she doesn't really want me to. For a moment, the only audible sound is the waves of the never-ending river. I place my hatchet back on my belt and remain still. One of those voices in my head takes over me again, and forces me to open my bag and hold out the pot of medicinal cream for her to take.

"What's that?"

"A gift from a sponsor. Just put it on your wounds. Don't use all of it though, please."

She walks closer and takes the pot from my hand, smiling gratefully. I just stand and watch as she sits and applies it to her injuries, still curious about them.

"What happened?"

"Mutt. A fox, I think."

"What was it like?" I ask, like I don't already know what she's going to say.

"It was all orange, with a blue tip on its tail. Its fangs dripped something poisonous, but that never got me. All it did was claw me up a bit, then I hit it on the head with a brick and ran the hell away. Lucky it never caught my scent and followed, aren't I?"

"Yep, lucky break. Can I have that back now?"

She nods and gives me back my sponsor gift. I offer her my hand to help her up.

"So, um, allies?" she asks, but seems to know the answer already.

"I'd rather not, one of us is bound to be dead in a couple of days. We can team up, if you'd like, but we're not allies."

"Okay, 'team-mate'," she smirks. I look behind her and notice that she is carrying literally nothing but the clothes on her back.

"Though I have a suggestion."

"And what might that be?"

"If you plan on staying alive, you'd better find a weapon."

It seems the sponsors are listening to me again, because not long after we've left the spot and started our walk along the riverbank does a small parachute fall in front of her. Beta sees the small 3 on it and squeals excitedly. I suppose when tributes are grouped the parachutes have to have some sort of indication as to who they're for. She unwraps it, grinning.

"It's a knife! I got a knife!"

"Great. Just don't stick it in my back after I basically saved your life."

We continue on our way through the night, each of us unable to sleep. Maybe she's suffering from insomnia in here. I, however, am refusing to sleep with this weasel around.

There are no cannons during the night. By the time the sun rises, we've reached something that looks like it was destroyed long before the rest of this city was abandoned. Even after all this time, there's still a thick layer of dust and soot around the remains of these buildings. It looks like there were two of them. I have a feeling the former citizens were planning to reconstruct them, because a little off the the left are a few forgotten vehicles, one of which I've only seen once back home. I think it's called a crane, and they used one to help rebuild the boatyard after a tsunami devastated half of the district. The memory makes me shudder. Despite the evacuation, we still lost a lot of people to the deadly wave.

"Maybe we should stop here for a bit? We don't have to sleep but we could just rest a while."

"Sounds good."

We find a semi-concealed spot between the two sets of ruins and I put all my possessions down. Beta has her knife safely tucked into the pocket of her trousers.

"Have you got any food?"

"Uh, yeah." I fiddle around in my bag and pull out two of the smaller beef strips for her. It might seem selfish but I'm not wasting food on a girl who's going to die anyway. Not to mention, I'm not her biggest fan. She eats them quickly and I pour out a cupful of water for her as well. That's all she's getting today. I take a swig of the water, myself, and put everything back in my bags.

After making sure I can see in all directions to be able to spot any oncoming attacks, I sit down about a metre away from Beta. I lay my battle axe on one side of me and set the hatchet on my lap.

"Just in case."

"That's fine. Hey, I meant to ask last night but forgot. Have you seen anyone else since the bloodbath?"

"No," I lie, "have you?"

"I followed that guy from Ten for a bit. He's gone crazy, by the way, since his little girlfriend died. Muttering to himself and all that. I swear, at one point he even laid out a meal for her yesterday. Weird, right?"

She may think so, but I've seen this happen before. To my own mother, as it goes. She took a similar turn after my father was killed.

The difference with Tilman is that the only way to end his suffering now will be to kill him. I just hope someone or something else gets to him before we do.

"Where did you see him?"

"In one of the buildings near the Cornucopia. Risky for him, but hey, maybe he's waiting for death to come his way. I'm pretty sure I heard him say something like," she puts on a mocking male tone, "'We'll be together soon, my love, I'll be back with you in no time.'"

"The Gamemakers will definitely have that one on suicide watch."

Beta laughs. I don't. If there's one thing I know, it's that the Gamemakers don't take well to cowardice. They like brutality and blood. If Tilman has even a single noose tied and prepared they'll mess with his plan and make him have a run-in with another tribute or two.

"Did you see anyone else?" I ask, in hopes that maybe she knows where Piccolo and his alliance are.

"Only the so-called Careers. That girl Liza has injuries on both her feet or something, and that Cadmus, from Two, is doting over her while the other two look for their next victims."

I smirk. Liza may have recovered by now but it's good that I caused some sort of lasting damage.

"What about my district partner?"

"I only saw him grab some backpacks at the Cornucopia and leave with Moira and Anton. Nothing of them since. But they ran in the opposite direction to me so I'm assuming they've found a safe place."

"Great. That's... great."

We sit in silence for a while and just watches as the sun gets gradually higher in the sky. My eyes remain fixed on it, and I start to feel drowsy but know I mustn't sleep, yet.

"I never knew mine."

Her words seem to tear me from my daydream. "What?"

"My district partner, Watson. I never actually spoke to him."

"Not even when you were at the Capitol, or in training?"

"Nope. He was pretty much an Avox. Not literally, of course."

The thought worries me. He didn't speak a word, and I remember his nervousness during his interview. I reminisce about the bloodbath, for though it seems like months ago, it was just two days that I saw him cut down by the girl I was later to maim.

"I'm sorry, Beta."

"Nah, it's fine. I think he just accepted his fate in the end and figured he wasn't going home, so didn't bother trying to impress anyone or make friends."

Well he certainly didn't seem to have given up when he got here. Nevertheless, I commend him silently for putting up a fight and holding out as long as he could; even if that wasn't very long at all.

"It's almost noon. We'd better get moving again. We're bound to run into someone eventually." I pick up all of our possessions, and she offers to carry one of the bags but I decline. I don't want to risk her running off with it.

We carry on along the nearest road, checking each turning as we pass. The roads seem endless, but I know the river runs along the other side. We decide to stick to a straight path, otherwise we're bound to wind up somewhere we don't want to be.

Even with half of the buildings still mostly intact, the shade provides little cover from the heat of the sun bearing down on us. I'm used to long jogs in the summer, so the rise in temperature does little to affect me. But eventually it becomes so unbearable that I'm forced to remove my jacket and tie it around my waist. This is obviously a Gamemaker's trick to draw one or two of the more mindless tributes to the acidic river and whatever other sources there may be in here.

Beta follows at my side at all times, fiddling with her knife as we walk.

"Be careful with that thing," I say, a bead of sweat trickling from my forehead to my chin, "you'll poke your own eye out in a minute."

"Relax, I'm not a complete moron," she says with a wink.

She's already enough trouble as it is, tripping over the cracks and almost falling through them at times. I have to grab her to stop her from being drowned in whatever the strange bubbling substance is at the bottom of them.

"Beta, look out!"

I run and tackle her out of the way just in time, as a huge chunk of wall from one of the buildings crashes directly in front of her. We lay in a dusty heap, panting.

"Th-tha-thank y-"

"No problem."

I remain unaffected by it, steady, calm.

Then the rest of the building collapses, and they start to fall behind us.

We both get to our feet and run, literally, for our lives. The dust cloud mushrooms ever larger with each piece of rubble added to the pile, longing to consume us in its chase. I wonder, for a second, if any tributes were in those buildings. I doubt I'd even hear a cannon. It's too late for them now, I guess.

Beta is slow, and small pieces of brick catch her legs as she runs beside me.

"We've got to turn somewhere!"

"I don't see any corners, do you?"

I scan ahead, my eyes darting hungrily from side to side, looking for an escape.

"There!" I point to a sign indicating a 'West 23rd St'. Odd, this sign is surprisingly pristine in comparison with its decrepit cousins littered about the roads. I don't dwell on that thought too long, though, because just before we turn into the street, I grab Beta's arm and yank her into the new street.

We've gotten out of the way with lucky haste, because the rubble storm engulfs the remains of whatever street we've just left in a matter of seconds. Feeling like we've earned it, we collapse and sit for a couple of minutes to catch our breath.

"That was a close one."

"You think?"

Then there's a scuffling noise, and a cough. How did I not predict this? The Gamemakers were bored and wanted to push some tributes together. Let's just hope it's someone we can take.

Cedar, the boy from 7, stumbles out of an alleyway about 50 metres away from us. He's covered head-to-toe in dust, and smalls cuts line his arms and a particularly larger one has torn his trouser leg open revealing a nasty gash.

But he's unarmed, and injured. He coughs for quite some time, and neither Beta nor I make a move towards him. Soon he notices us, and turns to run in the opposite direction.

"Wait!" I shout for him. _This'll piss them off._ I throw my sponsor gift in his general direction. He covers his head, thinking I'm throwing a grenade or something, I guess. Bless his heart. Removing his makeshift shield when he realises it's not dangerous, he picks up the pot, opens it and sniffs inside.

"Put it on your cuts, they'll heal in no time! Trust me!"

Cedar nods, and smiles. For a moment, he hesitates, perhaps thinking about allying with us, but decides against it. He continues on in the direction he was going to run before.

That's when the last building falls.


	11. Little White Lies

It was obvious that the Gamemakers were disappointed at the lack of blood when we were confronted with Cedar, so they took matters into their own hands. I weep for the boy. I didn't know a thing about him besides his name and his district. We could have been friends, in another situation. I brush the image from my mind and remember that I'd given him my medicine. Beta speaks for me.

"Well, we're fucked."

I haven't heard her swear before, so when the word comes from Beta's mouth it surprises me. I have to agree, though, we are well and truly screwed now. That medicinal cream would have cost quite a hefty amount so early on, and the price will only have increased by now. Chances are, I won't receive anymore help.

I decide it'd be best to keep walking. The Careers will have heard all the noise, no doubt about that. They'll come looking for any survivors soon.

Once the hovercraft has removed Cedar's small corpse from beneath the rubble, we clamber over the fallen remains of the building and carry on along the road. The buildings appear to have stopped shaking now. They're in a much healthier state of deterioration again – contradictory, but appropriate.

Neither of us speaks for a while, we just keep walking. Occasionally we hear a growl or a sniff, and choose not to venture into any buildings for shelter just yet.

No more cannons sound today. The sun sets strangely fast, and by the time we've stopped to set up camp, the anthem is playing. Once again, only one face is shown. It's weird how bad things seem to happen when I'm around, huh?

"He was kind of cute." Beta says, in an obvious attempt at lightening the mood.

"Yeah, I suppose he was," I say, admiring Cedar's features. He'd been short, for a 15 year-old. Even with his standard 7 looks, he seemed attractive. Maybe he had a girlfriend to whom he planned on returning. I hope she isn't too distraught.

I watch for the stars to appear tonight, anticipating their arrival. The moon has already made itself known.

"Beta, look." I point as the small ball of light gradually comes into view and a star pops into place. The others soon join it, like a bevy of tiny doves breaking free of the darkness. Yep, definitely fake.

"Wow." She seems unimpressed.

"Well I thought it was cool."

"Should we make a fi-" she stops herself, realising how stupid the question is. A fire would attract any number of dangers. Sure, normal wild animals would be driven off by a fire, but mutts aren't normal. Nor are other tributes. Fires were a grave mistake for some of the 230 tributes who died in the last ten Games.

I chow down on a beef stick while Beta talks quietly about her family. Her mother is negligent, and her father walked out when Beta was only young. She tells me about her little sister, Harsita, and how Beta promised her that she'd go home to her. It's a shame, really, that I can't let her keep that promise.

"What about you? What's your family like?"

I want to tell her about my father, and what a great man he had been. What he tried to do for the districts and how he'd failed in his efforts, but died fighting. But I can't. Not without punishment, or death.

"My mother is a wonderful woman. She's kind, sweet, everything a mother should be," this is a dig at Beta's mother, and I hope the woman knows it, "she's never let us down and I doubt she ever will."

"She sounds amazing." I can hear the jealousy in her voice.

"My stepfather, Eri, has been the greatest support we could ever have. He's a great guy."

"Stepfather?"

"Yeah, my dad... walked out on us." It hurts, almost, to depreciate him in such a way when I know the words aren't true.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. But I guess we have something in common."

"Yeah." _Not really._

"Do you have any siblings?"

"I do. My little brother Thaddeus is the most adorable kid in the world. Maybe he and Harsita would get along really well if they met." Beta smiles at the thought, as do I. "Yeah, I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost him."

I clasp my hands to my mouth, realising the mistake I just made. I just gave them something to use against me, and if the Capitol is as evil as I believe them to be, they'll do just that. I've fucked up, big time.

* * *

I don't know why I fell asleep last night. Beta insisted that we take turns keeping watch. On some level, I trusted her, but I didn't intend on actually sleeping while she was awake. Nonetheless, I complied and ended up getting some form of rest. Maybe she put off killing me for another day.

We're running again, Beta and I, faster than either of us can really manage. The wave of deadly liquid hisses behind us.

Every so often, it falls forwards in a festering mess and reforms into a familiar figure. So far, my mother, Thaddeus, Beta's father and little sister have all spoken to us, beckoning us to come closer. But each of us knows better than to be lured in. The Gamemakers haven't outwitted me yet, and they aren't going to. Ever.

Last night was just a slip-up, an accident. And it won't ever happen again.

Beta's mother drips to the ground and calls to her.

"Beta, darling, I never wanted to leave you. I promise, I'll be a better mother this time. Just come to me, come back to me, darling. I promise I'll stay. I promise. I promise. I promise."

"Ignore it. Just keep running."

A part of me wonders how the substance knows the forms of the people we love the most, but then I remember. The Capitol is omniscient.

We turn here and there, but don't stop running. It's hot on our tails. It drops down to become Thaddeus again.

"Mags! Come home, Mags! Come home to me!"

"FUCK OFF!"

Wow, never thought I'd say that to my little brother. It's not him though. I've just got to keep telling myself it isn't him. He's not here, not really.

We turn another corner and the goo seems to give up its chase. A hole appears underneath a round metal slab on the floor (I recognise this as a manhole) and the liquid slithers into the opening, never to be seen again. I hope.

"Thank fuck for that." I say. Beta stops, buckles over and holds her knees, panting. It was tiresome, yes, but it stopped every now and then. Jeez, this girl is unfit.

"Let's... let's find somewhere to rest."

"Beta, I've told you, we can't keep stopping. The Careers will be after us soon. Shit, they probably are. It's not best to stay in one place."

It's our fourth day in here, and so far there have been no cannons. No messages from Death. It's about three in the afternoon, my little knowledge of sun timing tells me. The Lure Liquid, as I will so fondly refer to it, chased us for a good couple of miles. The streets still seem to be the same as they have been so far: desolate and dangerous. Having been witness to two non-bloodbath deaths so far (the only two that have happened since the first day), I'm a little shaken. I tried to help both of them, and both times I'd been unsuccessful. I must be cursed. Either that or Poseidon just really hates me.

We continue walking. The sun is blazing again today. Sweat trickles from my forehead, down to my chin. I swipe it away with my hand and stare up at the sky. The same Gamemaker's trick as yesterday, I think. Don't go inside, don't go inside, don't go inside. I can feel the temperature's continuous rise, but I won't fall for this one.

But then it starts to get to me. The heat rushes to my head and I feel the blood pounding in my brain. I can see Beta feeling the effects of the heat as well. She staggers once or twice. My mouth is dry. I know hers will be as well. Drip. Drop. _Water._ Drip. Drop. _Water._

Sense comes back to me. I sling a backpack off my shoulder – carefully so as not to knock my axe from its place as well – and wrench a bottle of water from it. I drink greedily, swallowing it down with no concern for running out. _I'll be fine_, I think. Then I see her. Beta lingers at my sidem licking her lips.

"Oh, sorry." I say. I hand her the bottle and she gulps and gulps my precious water. "Whoa, whoa, slow down!" I snatch it from her lips and watch it dribble down her chin. She looks like a dog who's just been kicked. _Oh please._

"I'm sorry for trying to keep myself alive," she says.

"Well it's my water, it's not like you bothered to get any of your own."

"Hey! We're a team, you said so!"

"No. _You_ said we were a team. I said I didn't want to be allied with you."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because..." I don't even have a reason. I try to think of one, but I can't. Anything that pops into my head seems like a lie, and they all are, really.

"Exactly." She drops the backpack she'd been carrying and begins to walk away, jumping a couple of cracks as she goes.

"Beta, come back!"

She ignores me.

"Beta!"

"Why should I? You obviously don't want me around."

"No, but I think each of us stands a better chance of getting out of here if we stick together. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, but that isn't really a good enough reason. Even if we separate we still stand an equal chance, right?"

_Not exactly_, I think, _you'd probably be dead by the end of today if I let you go and I don't exactly want that on my fucking conscience along with the two other deaths I could have prevented and the two murders I committed._ Obviously I can't say this out loud, so I come up with the next best thing. It'll probably hurt Sedna, but she's clever, she'll see through it. I let the tears form in my eyes and ensure that the first falls quickly before I say,

"But you're my best friend, Beta! You're actually... the only friend I've ever had."

She stops. Slowly, she turns on her heels until she's facing me. For a moment, I think she's going to snatch her knife from her belt and throw it at my face.

"Do you mean that?"

_You wish. _"Of course I do. Why would I lie about something like that?" _Why not?_

"Well, in that case," she runs back up to me and, to my surprise, throws her arms around my shoulders. It's a weird hug, uncomfortable and yet wonderful at the same time. I don't actually like the girl very much, or at all, really, but this slight human contact is sort of nice. It's strange knowing that she'll die soon. I might even be dead soon, but I doubt that. It's not a part of the plan.

I gently push her away from me and we get back on track. She gathers the backpack she'd dropped and we carry on down the road at a slower pace.

"Let's just walk tonight. We slept well last night, so it wouldn't hurt to be on guard now."

"Sounds good, bestie."

I cringe internally at the pet name, but give her my best fake smile. If I'm going to keep up this act, I'm going to do a damned good job of it.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry I didn't update in_ so_ long. I was busy writing a SYOT with my Twitter followers as part of my own Games! Also sorry about the shortness of this chapter. I promise I'll keep updating more frequently and with better chapters. Hope this isn't too disappointing.**


	12. Tested

The first step of anything is bound to be the hardest. So imagine just how difficult it is to be standing on the edge of an unwelcoming, overgrown, abandoned park, which is potentially full of terrifying altered beasts with an overwhelming bloodlust, whilst accompanied by a girl you've been lying to for the last two days – whom you don't particularly trust – with the possible threat of your impending death, whether or not you venture into the untended mass of greens and browns in front of you. Then you'll know exactly how I feel right now.

Beta and I discuss at length who will go in first, because neither of us really wants to. It's about 8a.m., and we arrived here after walking, again, all night.

"Personally, I think you should go. You're stronger than me and you're not even scared!" she says.

"How do you know I'm not terrified, Bee?" I've taken to using a shortened version of her name, a nickname, because of my continuous false claim that she is my best friend. She seems to be fairly easy to string along, but now she seems dead set on me protecting her more than anything. Stupid of the poor cow, really, because I intend on slitting her throat tonight.

"Because, you got a 12 in training and that's fucking _rare_. Not to mention you have an air of absolute intrepidity about you, and everyone can see that."

"But would you not rather have me at your back, protecting you from behind."

"Not really. Who's to say you haven't been lying this whole time and you plan to stab me in the back without giving me half a fighting chance?"

_Shit, she's onto me_. I cock my head to the side and put on some false, puppy eyes.

"Don't be silly. I promised I'd look after you and that's what I'm going to do, Bee."

For a second Beta looks unconvinced, then the next she's smiling.

"Alright. How about we just go in at the same time?"

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"Mags, you can't be strong, beautiful _and_ clever. Only two, sweetie."

I laugh outwardly, but inside I'm tearing her to shreds with my hatchet. If this bitch insults me one more time, I swear these images will become a reality.

"Together, then?" I hold my hand out and she takes it right away.

"Together."

Beta smiles and we walk hand-in-hand through the first patch of unruly long grass. It's around waist-height, so there could be anything below its surface, but we run through it quickly, not willing to find out if our suspicions are confirmed. Her hand is clammy against my own. She's more scared than she let on. Every so often we have to dodge to avoid trees, and once or twice my clumsy companion trips on a root or a fallen branch.

"There's a clearing up ahead, run faster Bee!"

A few seconds later, we're there. The grass is unusually short compared to the rest of our surroundings. Dotted here and there are holes filled with something I've longed to see for ages. Beautiful, golden sand. There are semi-decayed balls of some sort lying around. They seem to have been white at some point in the past, but now they're a dirty yellowing colour, spotted brown from years of disintegration.

Hundreds of trees line the clearing, all compact and secure. It's almost like the prison courtyard I saw once whilst flicking through the TV channels at home.

"Right, whatever you do, don't go near those sand patches. I've watched enough Games to know that sand pits are never kind to tributes. Those ball things don't look safe either, so try not to touch those."

"Yes, boss." Beta gives another of her _hilarious_ mock salutes and plops herself down as far from either of the aforementioned obstacles as possible. I sit down next to her and place my weapons at my side.

"Fancy a drink?" I say.

"Sure, bestie."

I yank open a backpack (I've still not let her carry anything – except now it's because I've told her that she needs to keep her strength up in order to escape if needs be, though this is, of course, a lie) and pull out one of my water bottles. It's still half full, and I have another full one left.

"Let's not drink too much. Even if we do find a lake or something, there's a good chance that'll be acidic now as well."

"Good thinking. Hand us the bottle, would you?"

I smile and comply. She drinks it greedily, draining it down to a quarter-full. _Thanks for following my advice, bitch._

Once more, we sit and talk for a while, reminiscing about good memories we have of our districts and our families. Beta tells me about the time her sister got a slight electric shock from her first practice circuit board, whatever the hell that is, and how the little girl's hair had stood on end for weeks. I laugh, even though it's not funny to me in the slightest. Truth be told, the various times she's told me about her family, I've not given two shits what she has to say. My mind is constantly filled with thoughts of betraying Beta and winning, getting home to my family, and the wonderful future that lies ahead of me. It doesn't matter if I lie to her, everyone has done something similar in the last ten Games. 'Don't trust anyone,' they say, 'not even your best friend.'

If you've ever known a person who can talk about him or herself for hours on end, you have experienced what I am currently burdened with. Apparently Beta has an unending tirade of bullshit flowing from her mouth.

"... and then my Dad was like 'Beta, get down from there!' but I was all 'Dad, I'm trying to fix the TV antenna so you can watch your stupid shows'. And then-"

"Bee, please shut up." I say, rubbing my forehead with my thumb and index finger.

"Oh, sorry."

"I don't mean to moan, I just have a headache and- What's that?" There's a distinct rustling from the trees.

"What? What is it?"

"Sh! Listen!"

It's there again, louder, closer. The leaves flutter, and a part of me hopes it's just the wind. But obviously, that part of me is a moron for not considering the fact that I am currently in the Hunger Games and nothing is ever 'just the wind'.

A mass of grey, white and black storms into the clearing, circling above us. At a glance, they look like pigeons. I remember Charon showing them to us as we drove through the Capitol. But there's something off about them. There's a hint of gold in the bustle of monochrome birds. I grab my axe whilst trying to get a better look. It's odd... Their wings seem to have been dipped in a golden liquid, and appear uncommonly sharp as they glint in the sunlight. But there's something else. Their beaks and claws look like jewellery of the finest sort, the kind one never would see in District 4.

"Beta, get your knife." But I needn't tell her, she's already prepared.

The first reaches me, and I drive my axe upward, tearing it in half. Up close, they're much larger than they had seemed before, at least two feet in length with a five feet wingspan. This is going to be more of a challenge than I thought.

Following their leader, the flock of pigeon mutts dive as I reassume my battle stance. I stand back to back with Beta as the birds encircle us. We lash out forwards and sideways, narrowly avoiding one another's attacks in our attempts to take down as many of the birds as we can. The huge feathered fiends are relentless in their attacks. One claws its way forward and pecks at my forearms, leaving a slight gash across the right one. Another yanks Beta's hair, almost tearing a huge chunk from her skull before she swipes at it with her knife and slices one of its wings off. Mostly, they seem to be aiming for our eyes with their horrific golden beaks, obviously trying to blind us and prevent us from attacking them.

"Beta! We need to get into the trees again! We'll have better cover there!" I shout to her, even though she's within a foot's distance.

"Okay. Grab your bags and run, I'll hold them for a second!"

"No! I'm not leaving you! We'll each take a pack and run together. Ready?"

"Yep!"

"Three..." I thrust out with my axe and cut down three pigeons.

"Two..." Beta slices across the bodies of two that almost tear both her eyes out.

"One... Go!" Each of us slashes forward and around ourselves as we race to our packs. They're only a metre or so away but, as I'm sure you can imagine, it's not easy getting to them when you've got hundreds of enormous pigeons trying to devour your face. Beta, being a tad shorter than I, manages to dodge a few of them and slip under and out of the circle, snatch up the closest pack and dash for the nearest section of trees. I follow her with the other backpack and we tear through the shaded forest as quickly as we possibly can. After a good five minutes of running, and an awful lot of blood and sweat, the pigeon mutts give up their chase and head back in the direction they came.

Beta and I stop, buckled over.

"Well that... was fucking... annoying," I say, panting.

"Why does it... feel like... the Gamemakers... are only... targeting us?"

"Because they want to turn us against one another, for one of us to leave the other behind," I say, having regained my breath. It takes Beta a considerable while longer to do so, and I slump down against an aged oak tree. She sits at my side and I offer her some water. Between us, we finish the second bottle. I've only one left now.

The grass is long enough around us to conceal us from oncoming foes, but at the same time, it provides them with the cover needed to sneak up on us. It's a curse and a blessing.

"Can we just... stay here for a while?" Beta says, drowsily. It must be around 3p.m., so I don't blame her for being tired.

"Sure, Bee." I let her rest her head on my shoulder. I'm getting very good at this best friend act, and somewhere inside me there's probably a girl who wishes I felt as strongly about this friendship as Beta does. Alas, that isn't the case. She's going to drift off soon, then I'm going to take her knife, which she has so carelessly dropped closer to me than herself, and slice her throat open.

About half an hour later, she mutters while she dreams. I hear mention of her sister, and the mother whom left her. _Ignore her_, I think, _just pick up the knife and do it_. I look across to the gift the sponsor sent her. It lies pointed at me, a foot away. The afternoon sun reflects off the blade so brightly, tempting me to pick it up. I reach out my uninjured arm and wrap my fingers around the handle.

The sun glints off its blade again as I raise it slowly to Beta's neck. I let it rest for a second, not piercing the skin. With any luck she'll move in her sleep and I won't have to do any of the work. But I should, I have to. It's the only way of getting home.

I can just picture the entirety of Panem right now, eyes glued to their screens, wondering whether or not I'm going to do it. Do I give them the pleasure of witnessing my deceit? Or do I let them hang onto the hope that I care about her for a little while longer? Obviously, now, they know of my true intentions. Hell, maybe some of them had even worked it out before this.

Beta stirs again, distracting me from my thoughts.

"Mom... come back..." she mumbles.

I can't do it. I've no idea what's wrong with me but I can't bring myself to kill this girl. For the last eight years I've trained myself to be the deadliest person in District 4 (disregarding that one guy who tore his own parents' throats out with fishhooks), and now I'm incapable of doing the one thing I thought I would be good at. Even more strangely, I have no genuine feelings for this girl. Maybe I'm starting to believe my own lies, though.

I drop the knife back to its place and sigh. _Stop this Mags, get your shit together. You can kill, you can. Just don't focus on the fact that you turn into a crazed freak afterwards. Just do it. Breathe slowly. In. Out. In. Out. Pick up the knife again. Pick it up. Do it._

I'm not going to do it, not yet anyway.

Carefully, I lift Beta's head from my shoulder and set it down on the ground. She breathes heavily but doesn't wake up, luckily. Taking up my hatchet and strapping my axe to my back, I stand up and scan the forest around us. It's shaded, but the sun still breaks through the leaves above enough to see far in the distance. The trees, however, pose quite a problem. They're so tightly packed after years of neglect that it's hard to see if anything's lurking behind them.

I walk around. Beta will be fine, concealed by the long grass. As outdated and untended as this place is, it really is beautiful. Having spent most of my life on beaches, the forest is a welcome sight. The multiple shades of green cast a splendid ocean of colour across the semi-visible floor. Through the gaps in the trees, bright shafts of sunlight beam like rays from an alien craft. Everything here is so foreign to me. So different to my home life, but it's a great experience.

Every so often a rabbit or a squirrel scurries past, and I manage to pin a couple with my hatchet. I head back after two hours to find Beta has woken up. She sits under the oak, rubbing the smooth edge of her knife against her fingertips.

"Hey, you," I say, dropping my kills next to her, "how d'you sleep?"

"Pretty good. Where've you been?"

"Just got those, obviously," I say with a wink.

"Oh, yeah."

"Weren't you worried?"

"I figured you'd be alright. I mean, you are the Great Mags Oracle."

I laugh off her compliment. But she's right, I am pretty great.

We both decide that starting a fire would be a stupid idea, as we've discussed before. Furthermore, the mass of grass would just be a hassle to remove. Though it's unhealthy, we choose to eat raw meat from my kills. I skin both the rabbits and the red squirrel. Given that I've little knowledge of how to do this, it comes quite naturally to me. Like gutting a fish, just less slippery. Within around 45 minutes, I've cut off a few fillets of meat for both of us, and we make the most of them, regardless of how vile they taste.

"Ugh, if I get food poisoning, I'm blaming you!" Beta says through a mouthful of rabbit.

Once we finish our repulsive meal, I remind her that we're still on the run from the Careers and we begin another trek.

It's difficult to stay standing, having had no sleep for over 24 hours now. Beta seems awfully cheery though. I ignore her as we walk along through the forest. I let my fingers glide over the tops of the blades of grass, it's a soothing feeling.

The sun seems to weigh me down even more than my backpacks and weapons do. My eyes feel heavier than they have all day. Silly of me, really, to think that raw meat would give me even the slightest bit of energy. All it did was leave a disgusting taste in my mouth – a taste that seems permanent.

We walk for hours, it feels, and my legs are on the verge of falling off. But I have to keep moving. I have to keep myself safe. I have to get home. _Thaddeus. Mother. Eri. Sedna._

My mind is so rattled with thoughts that I've only just noticed how distant my companion's footsteps sound. A moment ago I could hear the rustling and soft wave of the grass as she walked next to me. Now she sounds miles away. My unrested mind is probably playing tricks on me. I gaze across to where she should be, but she isn't there.

"Bee?"

I've only turned a centimetre before a sharp pain ripples through my back, from my left shoulder blade spreading outwards.

I crumple forward and drop to the floor, twitching, wanting to scream. Blood rushes to my brain as my vision blurs and the forgotten forest ahead becomes a huge mess of nothing. My eyelids close of their own accord and I'm drowning in darkness. But I can hear it, just before I'm completely submerged in my subconscious. The cannon's boom is unmistakeable.


	13. Questions

My father is chasing me along the beach. The sun is shining, the waves graze the sand elegantly. Seagulls fly overhead, calling to one another. Light bounds across the ocean and the spray washes over the shore. Mother sits in a chair under a parasol, reading a book, but the title is indecipherable.

"Raaahhh!" Father is a sea monster, chasing me, the mermaid, across the beach. I've grown lands by going on land, like the fairytale mother told me once.

"You can't catch me Daddy!"

"Yes I can, mermaid princess!" He catches up to me and grabs my legs. I giggle senselessly and roll about on the sand with him. He pins me down and growls above me. "I told you I'd get you!"

"Please don't eat me!" I say, still laughing.

"Too late." Father's eyes grow wide and his growl rumbles once more. It's more of a snarl now. Then his head flies back and he cackles. The scene shivers and transforms. Mother fades into darkness.

"Mummy! Help!" But she's not there. A chestnut tree springs in her place. I look around to my father again. But he's been replaced as well. A great orange beast has me pinned to the floor, green ooze seeping from its gums. I bat at its face but its gaze doesn't falter. My hands are small and useless; I'm still a child, after all. It stares deep into me, through me. I'm a snack.

I scream and cry for my parents, but neither of them come to my aid.

I hear another voice, wracked with sobs.

Thaddeus is beneath another beast, ten or so metres away. I call to him, and I feel myself age as I do. But I can't help him, there's nothing I can do. I've failed him.

Another scream.

My stepfather, Eri, lies clawing at his own predator in the other direction. He lashes desperately at its face, making nought but a faint scratch on the surface of its skin. He saved me once. And once again, I find myself unable to save him.

"MAGS!"

I sit upright. My eyes fly open.

I yelp in pain as my shoulder burns from the movement. I'm forced to lie down again and take in my surroundings that way.

I'm still in the overgrown park. Beta is nowhere to be seen. I consider calling for her, but that would be foolish.

Sun tears through the leaves above my head. It must be around midday. I turn my neck to look around. There are backpacks strewn across the grass nearest me, probably for coverage. Though the grass is long enough to hide me as it is. An enormous oak towers a little to the left.

I'm in the Hunger Games. The 11th, I remind myself. I volunteered for a little girl. I was the first volunteer from District 4. I killed two people. I'm a murderer.

"Hey, you're awake!"

I flinch at the noise and remain still. The footsteps are light as they get closer. I shut my eyes and pretend I don't exist. _I'm not here, go away. I'm not awake. Leave me alone._

Someone crouches over me, blocking out the sun. A finger pokes my forehead.

"Mags? Hello, Mags?"

I open my eyes once more, recognising the voice. Piccolo grins. That damned, beautiful smile. My mirrored response is weaker.

"How're you feeling?"

"Uh," I sit up, ignoring the pain, almost, "my shoulder's killing me. What happened?"

"Glad you asked," he says. "Your ally tried to kill you. We got to her before she could finish the job."

"B-Beta's dead?"

"What? No 'thank you, Piccolo, for saving my life. You're so dashing and amazing'?"

"Ha-ha. No, but really. Thanks for saving me. How did you know where we were?"

"Are you kidding?" He raises an eyebrow. "You weren't exactly quiet when you got chased by those mutts. You're lucky we found you before the Careers did."

"What do you mean 'we'?" I remember that he'd been allied with Anton from Six and the beastly girl from Twelve, and that my question is now irrelevant.

"Myself, Anton and Moira. They're out hunting, told me to watch you because it'd be easier for you to wake up and see me than either of them. Moira is really sorry for whacking you at the Cornucopia, you know."

I feel a small tinge of pain ring through my head, remembering the violent smack from Moira's club. I was lucky, really, that she hadn't just used her other, spiked, one first. I laugh under my breath, though, because the girl seemed pretty pleased with herself when she had me pinned underneath her weight.

"Ah, it's fine. I've barely noticed it."

"Well that bruise doesn't look too nice."

Piccolo holds up a piece of glass and I notice it for the first time. The bruise is yellowing, but otherwise it looks fine. No sign of opened skin. But I can barely see anymore of myself in the glass. Come to think of it, I don't really want to.

My shoulder is another story. I reach back to feel the wound and find that it has been stitched up. I pull my hand away but there's nothing on it.

"How long have I been out?"

"'Bout a day and a half. You got a sponsor gift, a pot of healing cream." He opens a backpack and hands me the pot. There's a note wrapped around it: _Don't lose this one. _"I stitched you up. Just used the basic skills I learned in training." He presents another smug grin.

"Well aren't you just _fantastic_," I say.

"Yes, I am. Now, do you think you can stand up?"

I move my legs and there seem to be showing no signs of protest, so I get up. My shoulder ripples once more as the skin stretches and the wound sears.

I look around again and realise there must be about twelve backpacks here. There's a variety of weapons resting against the oak tree; I take note of my own in the pile. I wonder how they got all of these from the Cornucopia. I hadn't even seen Piccolo or Anton that first day, so they must have been in and out in less than a minute. I'm impressed.

"So where are the others?"

"Hunting." He points to the small bundle of fur, and I spot a couple of bloodied rabbits and squirrels. "Running out of stock." This alliance has been really efficient, I see. Good thing I joined them when I did.

"Speaking of food, is there any chance I can get something to eat? I'm starving."

"Sure." Piccolo reaches into one of his jacket's pockets and tosses me a bag of dried fruit.

"Thanks!" I say, catching it and tearing it open. The sweet taste rushes over my tongue, but it mixes with something foul.

"Yeah, I was going to offer you a toothbrush."

I glare at him. "No need to be rude."

He laughs and bends to pick up a backpack. "There should be one in... here... yeah, here you go." He hands me the bright pink hygiene tool and a half-full tube of toothpaste.

"We don't waste water so you'll have to do it without, sorry."

"That doesn't bother me, I'm just grateful to have nice teeth again."

As I brush my teeth thoroughly, he explains what each backpack contains, and I take note of the important ones: food, medicine and water. One contains game pieces and a chessboard, but I can't possibly imagine the use of such an object in the Hunger Games. The Gamemakers are weird.

I find out that no one has died since Beta. Piccolo says that yesterday was quiet, nothing happened, quite literally. That being the case, one can assume that something will occur today.

"So who's left?" I ask.

"Well there's the four of us, the Careers, Fleur from 6, Barric from 9," I finally learn the boy's name, "Tilman from 10 – who's crazy, by the way – and that little kid, Lovett, from 11. Fourteen of us in total."

"Beta told me about Tilman. How did you know?"

"We've been scouting to and from the Cornucopia in pairs and we saw him hiding in one of the buildings. It's a wonder the Careers haven't found him yet."

"Yeah, that is a little weird."

Though I wonder if it's a trick played by fate. The fact that I've witnessed every single death in the Games so far can't be sheer coincidence. I'm sure I'll see him die. Hell, I could even be the cause.

My thoughts are thrown to the wind as Moira and Anton step through the trees in front of us.

"Hey, guys." Piccolo walks to greet them.

"'Sup, bro?" Anton raises a hand and the two boys high-five, then hug. Moira stands awkwardly next to them, eyeing me. She looks as though she wants to apologise. I don't think I've ever seen the girl look so timid.

"Catch anything good?" Piccolo steers the conversation – and the uneasiness – away.

Anton reaches to the back of his belt and holds out a furry, orange corpse by the tail.

As if instinctive, driven by a greater force, I charge forward and boot the beast out of his hand, sending it skittering through the grass. My eyes tear up as I remember my dream, my breaths are heavy. The others stand around me, shocked.

"Mags?"

Piccolo's voice snaps me out of my trance. Moira looks mortified.

"What the hell was that?" Anton says, his voice shaky.

"I... I thought it was a mutt. I'm sorry." I skulk away from the trio, back towards the oak tree. I look over my shoulder and see the fox's body. The end of its tail is white, not electric blue. And there's only one.

I need to get a grip.

I was wrong. Nothing has happened today. We spent the whole day waiting for something to happen and received nothing but disappointment. I can't complain. My shoulder is still in pain, sort of, so I can't exactly do much.

We sit around a fire, two rabbits roasting over the flames. I guess this alliance is confident enough that they'd survive any attacks, even if I weren't here.

"We'd better go hunting tomorrow," Piccolo says.

"Didn't we already do th-" Moira stops as Piccolo raises an eyebrow. He's talking about hunting other tributes.

"There's still loads of us left and I'd rather just get this over and done with. We'll probably have to split soon, anyway."

Anton's head droops. He's clearly not content going it alone, even if he does have a strange air of confidence about him. That's something Moira seems to have lost.

"You feeling up to it?" Piccolo turns to me.

"Sure." Even if I'm not, the Capitol needs to see me as brave. It's all I've got going for me. Beta's attack barely fazed me, if I'm honest. I knew she'd show her true colours sooner or later. I just didn't expect it to be so soon. A part of me is glad that she's dead. At least I didn't have to do it. But I would've liked to have torn her stupid little neck open, nice and slowly.

_Stop that._

Once the rabbits are cooked, Piccolo and I share one. The meat is delicious, as I expected it to be. It's the first proper meal I've had in this place. Even if it isn't exactly _proper_. The other two eat in silence.

"Well, I'm gonna go get some sleep. Counting on all of you to look after your fearless leader while he's asleep." Piccolo winks and walks away, burying himself inside a sleeping bag below the oak tree.

"Um, I'm going to bed as well," Anton says, "will you guys be alright?"

I look at Moira, who stares back. Her eyes dart away much faster, though. We nod in unison. Anton nods and leaves. He pulls up a sleeping bag right next to Piccolo. In the dim firelight I see their hands link together. I smile. It's nice that they have each other. Somewhere there's a Mags who wants that as well. Just not in this universe.

Moira and I sit cross-legged on either side of the fire. It crackles and beams with heat between us. Every now and then I catch her looking at me across the flames. She's got something to say, I know it. I decide to confront her. I stand up and walk around the fire, leaving my hatchet where I'd been sat before.

"So what is it?" I say, sitting down next to her.

"W-what?" Moira looks worried, even though I've left my weapon on the other side of a miniature inferno.

"What's bugging you? What's the deal? What do you have to say?"

She looks confused. Maybe she's not even sorry, maybe she's just stupid. I point to the bruise on my head. "You did this to me."

"Oh, yeah, that," she shakes her head, "yeah, I'm sorry."

"That's it? You almost knocked me out, bitch." I punch her playfully in the bicep, which is oddly large. I wonder if a punch from her would hurt more than a club to the face did.

"Okay, I'm really fucking sorry for beating you round the head."

The words sound spiteful, but they're acceptable.

"Thanks." I say.

"So why did you ally with that crazy girl from 3?" Well that was out of the blue.

"What? Beta wasn't crazy." At least, I don't think she was.

"You didn't see the way she was eyeing you before she knifed you. She looked fucking mental. Like she'd have devoured your flesh given half the chance."

"No way, she wasn't like that." The words sound honest, but images fly through my head. Beta repeatedly stabbing me in the back again and again with her knife. My body bleeding through every wound, her bending down and lapping up the red substance like it's water. Her head flies back and she stares into the sky, blood-drenched, cackling over my corpse. The image is scarily familiar to that of my father in my dream.

I shudder out of the thought and see Moira looking intently at me. She'd still been speaking.

"What? Sorry."

"I said, she had this weird glint in her eye like she wanted to watch you suffer more than anyone. Did you say or do something to her that would make her feel that way?"

"I'm pretty sure I didn't. You're probably right. She'd been more of a crazy bitch than I'd first thought."

"Yeah."

The conversation dies once again.

I try to think of something to say, but nothing comes. For a while it's just us, watching the fire. The anthem plays, but there's no need. We didn't hear a single cannon today, so no one died.

Finally, I remember something I'd been meaning to ask.

"What was the deal with your district partner?"

"What do you mean?" She doesn't look at me when she responds. The fire has ownership of her eyes.

"Why did you hate him so much?"

"Colvin? He bullied my little brother. He had it coming."

"Wow. I guess that's one reason." _It doesn't justify you beating his body to a bloody, unrecognisable pulp. _I refrain from saying that out loud.

I tell her to go and get some sleep. She'll need it tomorrow. I doubt I'll sleep tonight anyway. A day and a half is more than enough rest.

Besides, I've got something to do tomorrow. I'm going to save someone.


End file.
